


Comfort Zone

by contextclues



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Anorexia, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Dead Emilie Agreste, Depression, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fear of Death, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Help, Hurt Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Marichat May, Marichat | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Marijuana, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, References to Depression, Sad, Sad Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Self-Harm, Sorry Not Sorry, The Author Regrets Everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 25,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21604522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contextclues/pseuds/contextclues
Summary: He was good at video games, but not better than her. He liked anime, which took her by surprise. He didn't know how to make popcorn, and he got tangled up in his tail whenever he got distracted.Overall, stupid.Endearingly so.But he was also more sad than he let on.---i.e. Chat Noir has issues and Marinette tries to help.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Emilie Agreste, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 229
Kudos: 726





	1. Chapter 1

Marinette liked him. 

Don't get her wrong, she was still hopelessly infatuated with Adrien, and the plan of three kids and a hamster was still as vivid as ever.

But he was sweet.

Sweeter than she would've thought.

There was a side to him that he just didn't show to her was she was all suited up in red and black, no matter how close they were.

Yeah, Chat Noir was sweet. And funnier than she could've imagined the moment she actually let him ramble, but she would never tell him that.

When he hung out with Ladybug he was her partner in (fighting) crime! A hero! 

He was jokey and bright but there was tension in his posture and his words because no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't afford to be carefree.

He wasn't fake when he was with Ladybug, no, it was the real him, but it wasn't all of him. 

It was him without all the stupid, she decided. 

With Marinette, though.

God, with Marinette he was a _dork._

He was good at video games, but not better than her. He liked anime, which took her by surprise. He didn't know how to make popcorn, and he got tangled up in his tail whenever he got distracted. 

Overall, stupid.

Endearingly so.

But he was also more sad than he let on. 

That's another thing he wouldn't show Ladybug, which irritated her until she remembered that he didn't exactly show Marinette either, which made her right angry.

He would come and tap on her window and she'd let him in. It was all like normal, just it wasn't. They'd play games but he'd lose and she couldn't tell if it was because his hands weren't moving or because his mind wasn't. 

She'd snap him out of his haze and he'd crack a joke but it was always a practised kind of one; the kind she could read if she went downstairs and grabbed the copy of "101 Best Puns for Kids" her papa had owned since she turned seven.

He wouldn't eat on those days, even if his hands would be better described as vibrating than shaking or if his eyes only focused on her with every other spoken word.

He'd leave early whenever he had one of those nights. She didn't think he went home, she couldn't say why but he just- he didn't. She didn't know where he went, though, because if she followed him out as Ladybug to try and comfort him more, it would seem as though he was not there in a single echoing room in Paris. 

Like he had vanished somewhere in between the soft close of her window and the little wave goodbye.

She didn't know much about him. 

She knew _him,_ just not the facts.

His dad wasn't home much. He was on a diet (but she didn't know why since he looked like a medium strength breeze could carry him away). Grades were important. More than important. He didn't have much time in his life.

That was it. She didn't know much else.

Not that she had time to dwell on it when a soft tap on her window sounded the moment her clock rounded ten.

That was the last thing about him, she remembered. He was as prompt as he could control. Fashionably late wasn't really on his radar.

When she saw his face she nearly looked down to make sure she wasn't transformed. There was his tension again, and she had never seen it as Marinette. 

She could barely see half his face and it looked like his life had crumbled from the outside in, but it couldn't. 

So with him, if he didn't like how something was, it simply _wasn't_ until it had to be. 

She quickly motioned that it was unlocked so he gently pushed the pane in and crawled through.

"Are you okay?" She wasn't really aware of herself saying it, but something was so obviously, glaringly wrong her mouth moved on autopilot. 

He smiled. Not really. His mouth curved up. Not a smile. "Yeah," He said, tone as smooth as ever, "Video games?"

Marinette blinked. "Yeah, uh yeah, I, um, just. Over there!" 

His mouth curved up again. "Great."

He walked to her monitor and turned on her console. He picked up the first controller he touched without looking at the desk and as Marinette sat down beside him, he hardly registered telling her to pick the game. 

He couldn't say what she picked. Which character he was or how long they played. 

He could describe in vivid detail, however, what it felt like to be thrust back into the present when his thumb broke through the cheap plastic of the controller from his tight grip and it splintered into shards beneath his finger. 

He threw it down like it burned him, and he stood up to create more distance, "Shit, I am so sorry, I can replace that. I'm so sorry, just, shit! Fucking shit. God," He started off speaking quickly, anxiously, before morphing into anger until he trailed off into near silence with the last few words. 

He tilted his head towards her ceiling and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes while he continued pacing until he felt her hand around his forearm.

"Chat," She tried to sit them down, but he just stopped pacing instead, "It's fine. It was old anyway, I have more controllers."

"It's not fine, Marinette! I broke it. You let me into your house and I fucking broke it and I should leave, I shouldn't have even come, I should never have started coming. Jesus Christ, I am so sorry, I'm just," He didn't finish, just dug his palms back into his eyes again.

"Chat Noir, can you listen to me? You didn't do anything." She probably would've continued, but he spoke instead. 

"Yeah. You're right," His words were barely audible and he moved his hands from his eyes, which remained firmly shut, to let one drop to hug his chest and dig sharp nails into his ribs, and to let the other move to cover his mouth just enough for him to still speak, "I didn't do anything."

"What's wrong?" She asked directly. It was obvious even a direct approach would hardly work, so no point wasting time dancing around the issue.

He didn't immediately answer so she was about to repeat herself, but he responded as her mouth was opening. 

He finally cracked open his eyes as he spoke, "Nothing. Nothing's up. Wrong. Whatever. Nothing's wrong and if it was, it'd be nothing I could talk about or even would _want_ to talk about. I'm," He took a shuddering breath as he tried to regain control over himself, "I'm really fine, Mari." 

"It's obviously something that's bothering you." She was on the verge of crying out of exasperation, "I've never seen you like this, Kitty."

It didn't seem like he had registered her words. He just took a step away from her, squeezed his eyes again as tightly as he could, and muttered, "What would Ladybug think if she was here? God, I'm so useless," to himself.

Marinette was fairly sure she wasn't supposed to hear what he had said, but she replied anyways, "She'd be worried. She cares about you and would want you to tell her if something's wrong."

He sniffed, but she pretended not to notice he was crying, "She doesn't. She wouldn't."

"You can't think that," Marinette couldn't show how appalled she was at the accusation for the sake of their identities, but it unsettled her, "She's your partner."

"She doesn't have much choice in that. We don't get to be friends. There's too much," he gestured vaguely in front of him, "at stake."

"You don't think you guys are friends?"

"No! I mean yes. Yes, we're friends."

She just stayed silent.

"We're friends but it's not real. I love her, yeah, and I make all these stupid jokes, but she's not actually the love of my life. I don't even know her favourite colour. She's my best friend but there's so much we can't know." 

"I'm sorry, Chat Noir." Marinette whispered after a long moment.

"Please, don't be."

She replaced her hand on his forearm and tried again to guide him to the chaise, successfully this time. 

"What happened, Kitty?" She asked into his shoulder as she put her head on his chest.

He stayed quiet for long enough she was almost sure he had fallen asleep, but then he spoke up. He kept doing that.

"You don't- My life is just really, very fucked up, Mari." He let out a breathy chuckle.

"Okay." She prompted, "What happened?"

"That's what I'm trying to say, you don't want to know. I'd have to tell you half my life story, and it's all just stupid and _sad_ and not even a big deal."

"You're crying, idiot, of course it's a big deal. I don't actually care if it's sad. It's you."

"Mari," He didn't say anything after her name.

"Please?" 

He pursed his lips for a second. They turned white before he slowly nodded, "Okay."

"So when I was eight," He began slow, like he had never talked about his past before. She didn't comment on it then, but she promised herself to ask about his life more later. "I had an amazing family, when I was eight."

"I had an older brother, Felix, and my parents. My brother was the worst," He smiled a little, "He was 12 at the time, so he basically thought he was a full-fledged adult. Always bossing me around and making up rules,"

Marinette was silent, only watched him.

"He was very loving, though. Always getting into trouble for me and making sure I wasn't bored and helping me with homework." Chat shut his eyes again, but not so fiercely. This time he closed them barely so they were not open, but on the verge of it.

"He was killed. Hit by a car as he was walking to school."

Marinette reached for his hand and gripped it between both of hers, still not daring to speak.

"It's okay, um. It was a while ago." He still took a small minute before he could speak again.

"My parents, mainly my dad, went insane. He pulled me put of public school and I spent my whole day at home but still never saw him. He drowned himself in work and if he couldn't, he'd come out of his office just to find something wrong with me and then he'd pick on it until he could find something else to busy himself with."

"Basically, it was just my me and my mother for a couple years." His voice broke and he looked up at the ceiling. Marinette tightened her death grip on his hand when he continued, "My mother was the best thing in my childhood. I can't- I don't know how to describe her more than that."

"She sounds wonderful, Chaton." Marinette finally said.

"She was." 

Mari squeezed his hand again at his use of past tense.

"That's why I was so upset today, actually. My mother."

"What happened?"

"When I was fourteen she went missing. Kidnapped, ran away, I still don't really know. All I know is she fell off the face of the Earth one morning."

"My god, Chat Noir I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, It's just," He used the hand she wasn't holding to rest over his mouth.

"Today, they f- We spent _years_ searching for her. Three fucking years. And I got home from school today and they had found her."

His eyes were back to being screwed as tightly shut as he could force them to be.

"They found her." He began to dig the claws of his glove into his tightly scrunched face until she gently reached for the hand and brought it down to meet the other one she was holding, "Dead. They found her dead, she's been dead this whole fucking time."

Marinette couldn't describe what it was like to learn her jokey, dorky partner's life was like this, but she told herself to bring it up another time. 

"I told you it was stupid," He gave the same stupid half hearted, shuddering chuckle he'd been giving her all night, "I knew she was dead. Deep down. Three years off the map, right? I mean there aren't many explanations." 

He was quiet again. When he spoke his words were airy, "I think it just made it more real, that it's only my dad and me left. And I don't- I don't like my dad. He's..." He couldn't finish. He tugged his hands out of her's and cupped his face again. She sat up to bring him into a soft hug.

"I'm sorry Marinette," He managed, "I'm so sorry."

She just shook her head and continued hugging him.

He fell asleep sometime later. She had no idea how long it took, but once he was sleeping she realised how _exhausted_ he looked.

By the time she woke up in the morning, all that was left was dry skin around her eyes and a rose where he had slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls comment or I might cry


	2. Chapter 2

The stupid cat was avoiding her.

He wouldn't respond to her calls or texts, even if they were cat memes. He hadn't been to her house in a week and a half and he didn't even patrol her side of the town at night.

The worst part was he acted fine around Ladybug. The same stupid jokes. The flirting she recently learned was generally fake. The cheeky grin.

It was so, so painfully insincere. 

She couldn't ask if he was okay because, in Ladybug's eyes, why wouldn't he be?

But she got as close as she could with constant "How are you doing?"s and "Anything new happen, Kitty?"s. 

The first question was always answered with a quick "purr-fect!" while the second was met with an exaggerated hum of thought preceding a "not that I can think of, Milady."

She found herself biting her tongue more, now that she knew.

Especially when he pulled stunts like last week when he got up to leave saying, "Gotta dash, LB. I have to get home before my parents notice I'm gone."

She nearly said something that time, but he was thankfully gone by the time she could speak.

"Idiot!" She had yelled to the air in front of her once her mouth caught up with her brain.

Marinette was nothing if not a problem solver, though. She grabbed her purse and her jacket once it was suitably past midnight, jumped off her balcony as Ladybug, and destransformed once her feet were on the pavement.

The idiot cat would avoid her as long as he could, but she also knew he put her safety above his own. 

If he didn't come and something did happen, she was still Ladybug and she knew she would be fine, so she slowly began her walk.

She stuck as close to alleyways as she could and looked down at her own feet and ignored every basic safety rule she could think of until she saw black boots in front of her small, pink flats.

She looked up in almost-surprise as he opened his mouth, "Marinette! It's two in the morning!"

"Hi, Chat!" She ignored.

"It's dangerous. Why are you out so late?"

"Why are _you_ out so late?"

"Hey," he crossed his arms, "I'm a superhero. I'm allowed to stay out late. You, on the other hand, are a princess who needs to go home."

"I like the pretty lights at night."

Chat Noir didn't look impressed, "Yeah? We can see them from your balcony. Here, I'll walk you."

She smiled at him and they both began walking. 

They didn't say much during the walk except for Chat Noir's quiet "careful" when Marinette nearly tripped over a stone. 

When they arrived at her house, he used his stick to carry them up to her balcony rather than go through the house, and they both settled onto her garden chairs.

There weren't any stars out, but they both stared at the sky for a long while until Chat broke the silence.

"So why were you out so late?"

"You already asked me that, silly." 

He turned his head to face her, "And you didn't answer me, _silly_."

She answered with a shrug, "Dunno."

"Yes you do."

She got quiet again, so he did too.

"You've been avoiding me." She mumbled after a moment. 

"I haven't."

"You have." She demanded, "And I see the videos of you with Ladybug during akuma battles, and you act so _fine_."

She began to sit more straight and she turned to him. He wasn't looking at her anymore.

"How can you act so fine?" 

"I am fine, Mari." His voice did not waver.

"You're not."

"Of course I am, I'm Chat Noir."

She deflated a tiny bit but not visibly.

"Can you please just," she closed her eyes and took a quick breath before continuing, "Can you please be honest with me for like one second?"

"Yeah."

"No, I mean, actually honest. Please don't lie."

It took a bit longer this time, but he again whispered, "Yeah."

"Are you okay?"

He still would not look at her, but she didn't mind too much. She almost didn't want to see his eyes right then.

"No," When he said it the only audible sound was the opening of his mouth, unaccompanied by any voice.

But it was enough.

"No," She echoed softly, "That's okay."

She reached over to grab his hand and he gave it to her absently. She traced little patterns onto the back of his glove until he looked at her again.

His eyes were dry by the time he looked over, but glossy as if they hadn't been that way for long.

"You should tell Ladybug." She told him.

"Not an option, Princess." He smiled.

"Why not?"

"She can't exactly stand me. Like, at all."

The more he spoke of Ladybug to Marinette the more skewed she realised his perception of their partnership was.

"Why do you think that?"

"I don't know." He did, "It's okay, though." It wasn't.

"Stupid cat," She pushed on his shoulder and he offered a small smile in response, "You're her best friend. She loves you."

"It's not that simple," His voice was still hushed as if he was worried he might remind the universe of his fate if he spoke too loudly, "I'm bad luck, Mari. I'm the literal embodiment of bad luck. It's getting kind of easier to just accept that."

"I don't think you're bad luck."

"I'm a black cat." He pointed out.

"Good thing I'm not very superstitious."

"Hi Not Very Superstitious, I'm Chat Noir."

She flicked him on his forehead.

"I hate you."

"I hate me too, you're not special." He joked, but Marinette got quiet again.

"Can you tell her?" 

"She won't care."

"She might." 

He just rolled his head back to look up at the sky. It was getting lighter.

"If she doesn't care, I will personally go and beat the shit out of her." Marinette declared.

Chat snorted at that so a smile grew on her face, too. 

"I don't think you could. You're very small, princess."

"I'm average height!" She slapped his arm.

"Mhmm. Average height for a small little princess." He hummed.

"Average height for someone who's about to kick you off this balcony."

"Again," He lulled, "You couldn't."

"Monsieur Chaton, I can and will."

He smiled, but she only saw a little bit of it because he was still facing the clouds. 

"Fine," He allowed.

"Fine?"

"I'll tell her. I'll try."

She was the one smiling then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter and the next one are kind of short and seemingly pointless. I kind of just need them to advance the plot and show how chat is feeling in more detail :)

Ladybug wanted to see him.

Not just Marinette, she always wanted to see him, but this time she specifically wanted to meet as Ladybug.

She wanted to see if he'd keep his promise, yeah, but mostly they and get to the bottom of whatever the hell it was that made her partner think she hated him.

Ladybug was clumsy and fiery and she needed him to bring her down to the ground so she could think of a plan. He listened to her rants and he knew her thoughts without any words. He was patient with her and funny when she needed a bit of cheering up.

She would never tell Alya, but she considered Chat Noir to be her best friend.

"What did the roof ever do to you?" A voice called from behind her.

She whirled around with a gasp.

"Any reason you're trying to erode a hole in the concrete?" He tried again.

"Oh!" She blinked, "I was pacing."

"Yeah you were, 'bug."

"I don't know. Worried about a friend."

His eyebrows drew close to each other, "Do you want to talk about it? I'm not great at advice but you know you can always come to me."

She nearly screamed. "I know, Chaton. You can too, you know?"

"Why, of course." He announced, "I'd never miss the opportunity to talk to my lady."

She tapped her foot in irritation, "I'm serious! I can't think of a single time you've vented to me, alley cat."

"What can I say, my life is basically perfect."

"Uh huh," She was careful not to show she was genuinely getting upset that he wasn't talking to her, "Just making sure."

"Love you tons, LB."

"I love you too, mangy cat."

He smiled gently.

She couldn't read him like this.

He stepped closer to the edge of the building and shot the bottom end of his pole down to the ground.

He nodded his head to the side in a motion for her to join him and said, "Come on, then. We still have to patrol."

He was three rooftops away from her by the time her yo-yo wrapped around the first one.


	4. Chapter 4

Marinette only finished half of her patrol before she went home. She was too distracted to be useful in anything other than flying into four chimneys so she turned around.

"Stupid alley cat better show up tonight." She mumbled, head in her hands and elbows resting on her knees as she sat on the edge of her patio chair.

She slowly swung her foot in an apathetic attempt to kick the ground in front of her.

"He will, right?" She mumbled again, "He better."

The night air offered no response.

"Maybe he'll speak to Ladybug soon?" She tried to settle.

She swung her foot again, and the concrete sounded with a soft scratch beneath her shoe.

"Are you talking to yourself, Princess?"A familiar voice rang from behind her, "Or does the fern have some wisdom to share?"

She shot up from the chair before nearly falling in an attempt to spin around. She sent a small glare in the direction of the clay pot beside her before speaking, "It's not a fern, Chat Noir."

He smirked, "So you admit you were speaking to the plant?"

"No!" She stumbled, "I wasn't."

"Mhmm," He hummed, "Sounds to me like my favourite princess has gone mad."

"You make me mad." She crossed her arms.

"Oh, so you're crazy for me now?" The boy grinned, leaning closer.

"I can't believe it," She whispered suddenly.

"What?"

"I had all of these dreams of being a fashion designer," She sent him a humorous glare to cut her deadly tone, "But no. I'm going to end up going to prison for murdering one of the heroes of Paris."

"Well," He tapped his chin in mock thought, "You could plead insanity."

"I am not crazy!"

"See, that's what a crazy person would say." 

"I'm going to kill you."

"It's a date."

She looked like she was about to push him over the edge of the railing, and he made it worse by grinning about it.

The only way she could describe that grin was shit-eating. It was one that screamed he knew he had won, and there was nothing she could say about it. 

"Monsiuer Chaton," She began slowly, "Why are you here, again?"

"I missed you, princess."

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Okay, okay! I wanted to give you this." He held out his hand to offer her a small brown box.

"What is this?"

He just looked at his hand and gave the box a small shake.

She took it from him and traced the edge of the hard cardboard before meeting his eyes again.

"Why did you get me something, Chat Noir?"

He decided he couldn't meet her gaze anymore, so it dropped to his boot before he could respond. 

"I felt bad."

For a second, the only sounds were those of the city around them and the one from his boot as he scuffed it against the floor. 

"Why?"

He bit his lip, but she couldn't see it with his head firmly pointed down. She only saw the shrug that followed and she let out what was meant to be a sigh, but was almost to inaudible to qualify.

"I'm gonna go, I think." He announced before she could speak.

"You just got here." She removed one hand from her gift to place it on his arm. 

He gently removed her hand and looked up at her with some emotion she couldn't recognise, "I won't avoid you this time." 

She frowned, but let her arm drop to her side. 

"You'll come back tomorrow?"

He did not answer with words.

Just a quick nod before he leapt from her balcony, flying over her neighbour's roof. It was not long before the night swallowed his silhouette and she stood alone again.

Her eyes fell to the box in her grip.

It was plain, just the same light brown of post office boxes, but the material was more sturdy. It was not decorated or marked in anyway except for a small 'Mari' written in loopy cursive near the corner.

She tugged on the lid, and it slid off easily. She set the lid down on the table next to her at the sight of the boxes contents.

She sat down and released a tiny exhale. It was not a sigh, but it was not just a breath. It was more of an unsuccessful attempt to release the flurry of emotions she suddenly held.

She picked the item up, and the box tumbled from her lap to the floor but she made no move to retrieve it.

She turned her gift over in her hands, almost irritated that he felt the need to get it for her. 

It was video game controller. Same model as the one he had shattered, the only difference was he had managed to find it black with green accents for the buttons. 

He had attached a soft pink sticky note to the back of it, and all it read was 'sorry' in the same loopy handwriting from her name on the lid of the box.

The hand that held the controller fell to her lap and the other one came up to support her head as she dropped the weight onto it. 

The gift felt heavy in her hand. 

She was nearly glad he left, because she knew she might've slapped him. 

Stupid cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment or I might cry also comment bc I have no idea what I'm doing and need people to yell at me


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys three chapters in a day I'm basically a goddess like I'm not saying my samsung notes app is crying but my samsung notes app is crying

It was Alya who noticed first. But then, it was always Alya who noticed first.

Something was up with Mari.

First it was the breakfast. 

She always, always ate breakfast, but Alya walked into the classroom to see Marinette sitting at the bench with an untouched croissant on a napkin in front of her. 

It was enough of a red flag that she was there on time, doubled by the distracted picking the flaky bread, but that alone wasn't what set it in stone for Alya.

Adrien Agreste hadn't been in school for nearly half a month. 

He had apparently been on some trip for modelling, though Alya could've sworn she had seen him in the flower shop a day or two after his flight supposedly left.

It didn't really matter to her then, though. What mattered was he hadn't been at school.

And then he returned. He was sitting right there, at his usual spot, typing furiously on his phone.

And Marinette, sweet, clumsy, hopeless hot mess Marinette _hadn't noticed_.

Her eyes were unfocused, staring more at the window than out of it. Alya slid into the seat beside her and greeted her, but Marinette only lifted up her mug of coffee to her lips, failing to actually dring any before she set it back down.

Alya wasn't pushy. She hated being called pushy. 

But she also hated being ignored.

"Girl," She grabbed her friend's shoulder and shook it, "What's up with you?"

At that, Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin and looked around as if she was realising for the first time that she was at school. Her eyes snapped to Alya, wider than the blogger had ever seen, and she froze.

"I, uh," The designer stuttered after a second, "What?"

Alya blinked, unsettled by her friend's behaviour, before slowly repeating herself, "I asked what was up with you. You're all distracted."

Marinette cringed a bit, "Sorry," She blushed, "I didn't sleep very well last night. I was all worried."

"Worried?" 

"Yeah! The, uh, the test! In physics! That's more Adrien's forté and he's not here, right?"

At the mention of his name, the blond stopped typing and turned around to look at the girls behind him.

"Huh?"

Marinette stared at him like he had just announced he was giving up education and moving to Kentucky to get a crack addiction until he died at age twenty-eight from scurvy. Not that he would've said it sounded like too bad of an idea, had she brought it up.

"How long have you been there?"

"I, uh... ," He knit his eyebrows, looking to Alya for an answer for Marinette's owlish stare, but she offered no help. 

"Sorry, Agreste." Alya shrugged, "She's been all wack today, I don't know either."

He just offered a small smile and turned back around in his seat, back on his phone before he had fully faced the front.

If she hadn't been so preoccupied with her best friend, she might've noticed something off with the model too.

The thing with Adrien was he was an easy person. Easy-going, easy to understand, always had an easy smile. 

But his smile had been shallow. More distant than gentle.

It was too similar a look for her to have noticed with the added distraction of Marinette, but something was wrong. 

She didn't notice it later, with the way his class work was done in barely legible pencil. Adrien had a very bold writing style, but it was not unreadable because it was messy. 

He wrote in the same smooth cursive he always did, but his pencil must've barely touched the paper as he worked because his words were more light grey than deep chrome, almost blending into the white paper.

She again did not notice when he lingered at the end of the day. He tried to chat with Nino for as long as possible even though his head was obviously not in it enough to hold much conversation. 

He normally ran out as quick as he could, designer trainers hitting the ground at the same time as the clock's second hand grazed twelve. He was busy, too busy, constantly busy and his only purpose for completing any task was so he could begin another.

He normally did not push.

Alya did not notice a lot of things that day.

It was not until Marinette had long since gone home, and the last few kids trickled out of the school only because they knew it would be locked soon, did she notice Agreste.

She was already standing outside when he left.

She didn't call to him, and he didn't notice her. 

Her eyes were trained on him, and his on the ground.

She nearly ran to grab his arm and shake him awake, she wasn't fully sure he was, or at least take him to her house and stuff him with cake until he smiled again.

But there was a silver sedan parked in front of the school and next to it stood a terrifying woman with steel eyes that Adrien did not meet.

When he bent down to lower himself into the car, it looked more like he was collapsing in on himself than maneuvering around the sedan's roof.

She did not wait for the car to drive away before she began her quick walk home.

Maybe it was Adrien who Marinette had been so worried about. After seeing that show, all the subtleties that screamed _'emergency'_ , she wouldn't be surprised. 

She'd fix Agreste, she decided, or at least try as hard as she could with some help from her friends.

But that was a problem for future Alya. She dug her keys out of her pocket and pushed open the door to her home. The twins ran up to her, both bouncing with anticipation to show her their newest artwork.

She smiled.

Chat Noir did not smile quite so wide, though.

He sat on the edge of a roof, swinging his foot out as far as it could go, just to have it fly back full-force into the brick of the wall. 

He remembered vaguely wondering if he might break his heel but he had dismissed the thought early on, mostly on the basis of he didn't care.

He heard her breathing. He had been there for nearly fifty minutes, and she had been there for two.

"Ladybug," He called, "I have super hearing, you know."

She sheepishly emerged from behind the chimney and sat down beside him.

"I know," She quickly reassured once she was sitting, "But I'm getting kind of worried about you."

All the teasing left his body as it all froze except for his swinging foot. "Worried? Why?"

"I don't know," Ladybug answered softly, "I think you're wearing yourself thin."

She rested her head in the dip where his shoulder met his chest, and gazed out at the city, but not before flicking him on the knee. "Stop doing that," She scolded, "You'll hurt yourself." 

"Sorry." Was all he could say while he allowed one more collision between the wall and his heel before letting his throbbing foot to come to a rest.

She spoke slowly and her words were careful but not calculated, "Are you okay?"

"Why does everyone always ask me that?" He deflected.

"Maybe because you aren't."

"I am!" His reaction was too quick and he fumbled to catch himself, "I am. I'm okay." 

She didn't move from where she rested against him, and the only coherent thought his mind could produce was that he was thankful she could not see his face.

"If you say so, Chat Noir."

She had put it on him. If he said so. It was up to him to tell her no, no he was not fine, he hadn't been fine for a long time and all he wanted was to sleep, to actually rest for once.

She told him it was his decision to let her help him because she could and he should and he could be _happy_.

But Adrien Agreste had never gotten to make decisions for himself in his life. And his father's voice was there in his head, demanding but not yelling. A sharp, resounding, "Don't."

"I do," He choked, "I do say so."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is short mainly to further the whole Alya knows thing but dont worry the next chapter will be a proper one and also up soon like I mean literally give me an hour kind of soon

Adrien was limping.

Alya was careful to notice him today, after watching his walk to the car.

He hid it well, it wasn't noticable unless he was holding something or walking quickly, and Alya was near certain she wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't been searching for something wrong.

It was the little things like that which unsettled her.

It was also the sudden restlessness, the way he took to flicking his pencil between his fingers to pass the time in class.

It was the way he would not meet anyone's eyes for long. The gazes would meet for instant before his left to travel anywhere else it could. The floor, the background, his twiddling hands.

It was the apathy. The "I don't care, you guys decide." for every decision of any gravity. 

It was the little things. 

The million and one tiny, barely noticeable little things that were rolling up into a massive, glaring, terrifying big thing right before her eyes.

_Emergency._

"I don't know for sure," Alya quietly admitted to her boyfriend in a hushed conversation at the edge of the lunch room, "I think he's depressed or something."

Nine bit his lip before responding, "I don't know, babe. Sometimes you rush to conclusions and that's a..." He paused, looking for a gentle way to phrase his thoughts, "That's a pretty big statement."

"I know, I know it sounds stupid, but something's off with him! You have to agree with that at least. He's all," She waved her arm in the air between them, gesturing at a concept rather than an object, "You know?"

"Alya, hon'," He sighed, "Adrien's always a bit sad."

"Well that's not very fair, is it?" 

"I wasn't saying it was." He pointed out, "But it doesn't mean he's depressed."

"Look at him!" She insisted, "Just look at him!"

Nino's eyes flicked over to where Adrien stood across the lunch room. He was politely laughing at the lunch lady's small talk as he paid for his sandwich.

"He seems fine, babe."

Alya grabbed his hand and held it near her chest, "Can you please just," She paused while she looked across the room to the model, "Just make sure?"

Nino nodded gently, "Yeah. I can."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW PANIC ATTACKS

He knew the route to the Dupain-Cheng bakery from his house by heart, whether by foot, car, or rooftop. 

It took seventeen minutes to walk, twenty-three to drive (Paris traffic and all), and six for Chat Noir.

_"I won't avoid you this time."_

Why had he said that? 

He wouldn't have to be stopping on every other rooftop to catch his breath and attempt to control his hammering heart if he had just been able to avoid her.

He checked the time on his staff.

He was not even halfway there, and it had taken him nearly a quarter of an hour.

Bile rose in his throat, but he quickly suppressed it.

Nerves, nerves, nerves.

Nervous, nervous, nervous.

_"I won't avoid you this time."_

He quickly vaulted to the next rooftop. He was quick like he always was, but the elegance of his usual leaps, the grace of his normal landings, it had all vanished when his mind had begun to flood and his muscles had been replaced by the water.

He grit his teeth as his vision began to spot when another wave of nausea sent him collapsing against the nearest wall.

He hated it.

He hated to be scared of Marinette.

To fear the one and only soul in the world who had come the closest to accepting the full him.

He was stupid, he decided, though it was not a new discovery to him.

He was the worst, he settled, but again it was no news.

He should turn around. 

That thought was newer than the rest, more fit for the instance than a recurring generalization, but it had still been on repeat since he had left his house, so he stubbornly ignored it.

He didn't deserve her. 

There it came. The hardest one to accept. Perhaps, he considered, because it was the most true.

His steps were already sluggish, but they slowed even more as his mind chanted louder with his every breath, more convincing with every blink, more harsh with every stutter of his rushing heart. 

He was almost sure the pounding in his ears had a gravitational force because it was so big, too big. 

It was heavy and loud and dense and _growing_ , and it writhed inside of him, shutting down his body because it was too massive a presence to be contained in only his mind.

It was deafening, overpowering him one motor skill at a time, and his nerves did not send any signal back to his brain that it hurt when he fell because his knees could not hold him.

He was bleeding. He didn't know from where, but red stained the concrete. 

Not much. 

Just a drop.

Maybe it came from his knee, maybe he had skinned it when he fell.

He didn't notice.

He couldn't notice.

_He didn't deserve her._

There was red again.

More than a drop.

It put its hands on his shoulders and asked him to breathe on the count of five.

It asked him for the colour of the sky.

"Red." He had mumbled.

It asked for the date and the colour of its eyes and a thousand other questions, but he couldn't think.

Think. Think. Think.

He gulped for air to sooth his burning lungs, and the red hugged him fiercely.

"Ladybug?" He didn't plan on saying it. His mind hadn't warned him that he was going to speak.

But his brain was still busy focusing on everything insignificant.

She said something. His eyes were wet. She was still talking.

His hands looked too small.

She had said something, but he could not hear it.

He just dumbly repeated himself, "Ladybug?"

He forced himself to focus on her. Her eyes. They were blue. Her hair. Blue. Her words. 

Her words.

"Chat Noir, look at me," He could hear her that time, but he frowned. He was looking at her, he thought. He did not move.

"Focus on me, please." She was still talking. Focus. She had said focus that time.

He had forgotten that focusing was part of looking.

He quickly reminded himself to look at her eyes. He told himself not to think, she was doing that for him. 

"It's okay," She reassured, but her tone was still assertive.

He couldn't feel his fingers.

_Don't think._

"You're okay," She pressed her forehead against his and let out a small breath. 

His mind began to slow, but his body was still shaking.

The only sensation he was aware of was the brick lodged somewhere in his esophagus. 

Ladybug rocked back onto her heels to crouch in front of him rather than over him, and quickly swiped her finger across his cheek.

Was he crying? 

He couldn't feel it.

His entire chest was vibrating but he didn't know if it was because of his wobbly breaths or his rattling heartbeat.

She moved to lean against the wall beside him, and the warmth of her presence distracted him from the sickness he felt.

"Ladybug." He coughed.

She said nothing, but leaned more deeply into his side.

By the time the hero felt anything similar to Chat Noir again, the sky had really begun to turn red. Near the setting sun the sky gleamed a fierce scarlet, but the rest of the view was awash with a soft pink and veins of orange and green snaked around the darker corners.

"Ladybug," He croaked. Time had passed. He did not know how much, but it was enough for his joints to feel stiff against the concrete roof and walls. 

Everything about him was tentative in that moment. Like his voice did not yet trust itself to speak. Like his veins did not yet trust themselves to flow. Like his still shaking muscles did not yet trust themselves to stretch.

She answered him that time, "Hi."

"Hi," He mirrored.

"Are you feeling better yet?" She prompted.

"Yeah," He began, "I'm sorry."

"Chat," She warned, "Don't lie."

"I feel better. I do." Only half of his words made use of his vocal cords. The rest were just breaths. Echoes to fill the space.

"You're still shaking, Kit-Kat." She traced her fingernail against the seams of his glove which hung down from his arm that was wrapped around her shoulders.

"Oh." Was all he could supply.

"Can you tell me for real how you're feeling?"

"I can't," He scrunched his face in thought, and his breaths were still short and shallow, "I can't remember."

"That's fine," Ladybug promised, "How about I ask and you tell me 'yes' or 'no'?"

Chat nodded weakly.

"Do you feel sick?" 

"Yeah." He confessed, still not entirely aware of himself.

"Are you cold?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think you can stand?" 

He thought for a moment. Or, at least, the closest thing to thinking he was capable of at that moment. 

"No."

Ladybug was still tracing around his glove. "Do you think you could drink some water if I got it for you?"

The idea of it made his stomach churn, and he did not risk opening his mouth. He did not need to think before quickly shaking his head 'no' to that one.

"Are you okay?"

He did not think for that question either. The response to it flowed in his blood, pattered along with his shaky heart, it was immediate and instinctual and it was on his tongue before she had finished the prompt.

He nodded a 'yes' with a watery smile, but she was not looking at him.

Ladybug felt the motion against her shoulder, and had to stop herself from flinging him off the roof.

After he had shattered in her hands, he still would not admit he was cracking.

"I said to be honest, Chaton."

He bit down hard on his tongue, and goosebumps followed a body-wracking shiver as he felt real sensation for the first time that evening.

"I still can't remember." He proposed.

"You don't have to remember how to feel, Kitty, you just have to know it."

He couldn't remember how to breathe for another moment after she spoke.

_Don't remember. Just know._

"Then no," His voice would've trembled had it been more than a whisper, "I don't know that I'm okay."

Her hand stopped tracing his glove to wrap around it. 

She smiled as the first constellations began to emerge.

"You don't have to talk about it now. We can just watch the stars for tonight."

His 'thank you' was not verbal as they settled into silence, but she heard it all the same.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if ur here before i post the next chapter look at the word count

She had left him at midnight, once she was sure he was okay. If he stayed any longer he knew she might've convinced herself to reveal their identities just so she could walk him home, so he assured her he was fine before impulse changed her mind.

"I'll be all good, 'Bug," He had promised her, "Really."

She didn't look convinced but she also wanted to let the boy sleep. "The moment you get home," She warned, "And I mean the very instant you get home, you better go to bed."

He gave a small salute, but it lacked the grandeur of his normal one. It was only his first two fingers reaching the air somewhere in front of his nose before being dropped weakly to his side.

"Yes sir," He joked, "Anything for the lady."

She rolled her eyes but her smile was still as present as before. "Shoo, then."

He readied his staff at the side of the building while the conversation ended, "See you soon, then?"

"Tomorrow." She nodded.

"I dunno, LB," He frowned, "I might not be up from my cat nap tomorrow."

"Not even for a croissant?"

"Wow," Chat smirked, "Suddenly I feel so awake! How crazy is that?"

"It's insane," She confirmed, "Now go!"

With a small wave the boy was gone.

He didn't look back to see if she had stayed to watch him go, or if she had taken off when he did. He didn't really care.

He couldn't think.

He was tired.

He didn't want to sleep, though.

He wanted to go home, but not to the home he had. 

He wanted to feel something, but he was too upset to feel happy and too drained to feel sad.

He wanted to stop right there on the rooftop and scream and cry as loudly and completely as he could, but he also wanted to keep running, even faster than he was, he just wanted to run until the road signs weren't familiar and his breaths were heaving and his lungs itched and his eyes stung just a bit more than his muscles.

He wanted to not think. He wanted to turn his mind off for a day. Let someone else do the work. But he also wanted to understand. He wanted his thoughts to make sense and he wanted to think faster and deeper, not waiting for explanations but for answers, so he could just, for once, know.

There were so many things he wanted to do. Too many were impossible. Just as many were contradictory.

He didn't want to do anything, anymore. Nothing existed the way he needed it to.

His boot caught on a rough patch of concrete, and he stumbled forward as his entire body halted. He didn't start running again, though.

He watched the city instead.

It wasn't busy enough. The streetlights didn't glimmer. They were old, yellowed but not yet flickering. The roads were unremarkable. Not perfect enough to be complimented but not cracked, not ruined enough to be noticed. There was history, he had to give it that. It was rich and inescapable, but it was almost so prominent it blended in with the background noise.

Nothing felt very special anymore.

Nothing felt very much like anything anymore.

"Plagg," The boy whispered, still staring at the skyline, "Plagg, help."

He received no answer, so he rushed through an almost irritated 'claws out' before repeating himself.

"Plagg," He whispered again, not sure how to continue.

The kwami settled himself where Adrien's neck met his shoulder, his usual thoughts of hunger not even beginning to form.

Adrien leaned into the touch almost greedily, and the kwami again chose not to comment.

"I don't know what to do," He breathed.

Plagg frowned. Adrien did not have to see it to know it was present. He didn't mind Plagg's frown though. It wasn't like his father's or Nathalie's. Their frowns were out his distaste. Out of distance. They frowned because they did not care, or at least didn't want to. 

Plagg's was concerned. Adrien didn't like that either, but it was better.

"About what, kid?"

Adrien ran his tongue across the bottom of his teeth, nearly flinching as he pressed too hard against one of his canines. "Nothing."

Plagg did not move from where he lay on his kid's shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"It's nothing _specific_. I just don't want to do anything," He struggled, "I don't feel like doing anything."

Adrien waited for a response, but none came. He filled the silence by continuing.

"I just, I don't really... It feels stupid. Doing things." He still sounded hollow, the words had no audible character. He sounded like air and his words were heavy with meaning that his voice simply refused to convey, "Why would I do something? I don't want to. If I think about doing something, I just, I don't know, I get reminded that it's dumb?"

Plagg shifted, and Adrien was vaguely aware of how cold it felt in the areas his kwami stopped covering, but he carried on speaking.

"I just want to go somewhere and not be there. I want to just be forgotten for a day. I want to get lost in the crowd, you know? I don't want to be alone. I want people, I want crowded streets, but I want a crowd where they can't see me. Everybody sees me."

"What about Chat Noir?" Plagg finally spoke.

"They see him too."

"Yeah," His Kwami agreed, not knowing what else to try, "They do."

Adrien moved closer to the edge of the roof so when he sat down he could swing his leg. He didn't swing his foot with any force like he had the other day. It was more of an absentminded motion, gentle and inconsistent.

"The sky's getting light."

"It's almost morning." Plagg pointed out.

He didn't answer, but he leaned back with his arms behind him to support his weight.

"Adrien," The kwami was not ready to settle into silence, even if his holder was.

"Hmm?"

Plagg didn't know the words for what he meant. He didn't know how to explain how many times he'd seen his wielders implode. Channel the essence of destruction just to use it on themselves. He didn't know how to tell Adrien he loved him but he'd seen him a thousand times throughout history, and he couldn't do it again.

"You can't just," He tried to word it. If he couldn't, Adrien knew him well enough to understand. "You can't just keep _wanting_ this."

Adrien didn't look down to meet his eyes. 

Instead he stood up quickly and tensely and walked away from the edge of the building. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but stopped after it got caught in a web of tangles. His hand fell to his shoulder to let his arm wrap his chest in a half-hug. 

He sucked in a long breath, eyes fluttering shut as he did so.

"Just," He exhaled, "Claws out."


	9. Chapter 9

He didn't ever get to bed, but when his alarm went off at 06:00 like every morning, he was shocked awake.

Unlike most normal Saturdays, he wasn't under any blankets, too warm and dazed to risk anything but the snooze button.

He was at his desk, still fully clothed in his well worn jeans and his equally loved trainers. 

He hadn't been asleep, so the alarm did not truly wake him, but his mind had been turned off.

His eyes were red and burning but he did not know that until the alarm's shrill ring reminded him.

He had been somewhere else, he didn't know for how long, not quite thinking anything.

He had been paused, frozen in his last thought, though it did not echo. 

It had instead curled up like smoke from a dying fire and vanished into the atmosphere, lasting only just a bit longer than the time it had taken to originally appear.

But his alarm reminded him that he had to think because it was morning. He had to remember the world, and his life, and everyone else's, too. 

He had to change out of yesterday's shirt and blink even if his eyelids felt like cracked sandpaper and made his eyes splinter with every quiver.

Because it was morning and the world would not wait.

But just because his body has been pulled back into orbit didn't mean his thoughts, intangible as they were, had to follow suit.

They felt distant. Not quiet per-se, but the kind of distant where a neighbour is playing music down the hall and you can hear it faintly, but the clarity is lost.

Where the melody creeps through the carpet and the harmonies glide effortlessly through barriers but the voices stop more easily and the words don't make sense and all that's left behind is the fill-in-the-blanks version of your favourite neighbor's favourite tune.

His thoughts felt distant like that.

Muffled through the cracked plasterboard and the old wooden door frames and the moments and breaths that shaped entire lives he didn't know.

Inaudible not because of volume but because of obscurity.

When he woke up it was startling, but he knew that only by fact rather than by memory. 

He remembered the jolt, the stinging from his eyes and the wall of nausea that always came with any sleepless night.

But he remembered only that it happened, more like a picture than a memory. 

He could not describe the nausea, just that he felt it. He could not remember the way his eyes stung, just that they did.

He didn't much feel like remembering.

He changed his shirt, instead, out of yesterday's into a new one that looked exactly the same. 

He didn't change his jeans and he probably didn't brush his teeth, but he passed a hand through yesterday's hairstyle and nodded for Plagg to rest in his pocket. 

He walked quickly down the stairs to breakfast, noting only the way the white marble gleaned in a manner so he knew cold, biting stone would've seeped through his socks, frozen him until he was running, stumbling to escape it, if only he hadn't been wearing shoes. 

He was late for breakfast.

Nathalie tsked with a disappointed frown, but it seemed skin deep. By the time he blinked, her face had smoothed over to her regular resting indifference. 

"You're going to be on time if we leave now." She announced, putting a hand on his shoulder to lead him to the door, "Your bag's in the car." 

He didn't say anything, or even nod, but he walked to match her pace, and for her that was enough. 

He only noted something was wrong halfway through the car ride. His glazed over eyes had at some point fallen from tracing the lines the rooftops made to the dashboard of the car and he started gently when he noticed the time.

Leaning forward, he squinted at the front of the car to make sure he had read it properly before quickly turning to meet Nathalie's equally concerned gaze.

"It's 10!" He rushed, already turning red from the stress, "School started an hour ago!"

Nathalie turned off her tablet and set it down next to her, which he just took as another bad sign to fuel his nerves.

"It's Saturday." She quietly pointed out.

His wide eyes faltered just a bit and he took a few seconds to process what she said before he stuttered, "It is?"

She answered by watching him.

"Then where are we going?" He stumbled over the first few words as if his mouth held the question before his mind even knew he needed it answered. 

"We're going to the meeting. The one I was telling you about as you had breakfast?"

"I didn't have breakfast today." He defended, though goosebumps began to pepper his skin.

"Yes, Adrien, you did. I packed it for you and you ate it in the car. I watched you eat it."

She pressed the back of her hand against his cheek, breaking whatever personal boundaries were normally there between them, set by either her or her contract, he still didn't know. 

"You're warm," She noted.

"I'm not."

She raised an eyebrow and began digging in her purse.

"I'm fine I swear," He begged, and she paused her search for acetaminophen to look him in the eye, "I just didn't sleep well."

"Well it's looking to me like you 'haven't been sleeping well' for a while now."

If their life had been an old cartoon, her eyes would've widened three sizes when she realized she had said that out loud, but she managed to compose herself in enough time to embrace it. What she said had been fact, after all. Someone had to say it.

Someone had to say it.

His eyes, instead, were the ones that grew, "What?"

"Adrien," She softened.

He had never seen her look like that before. He didn't even quite know what he was seeing, but it was brand new.

"I think," She paused in an effortlessly to salvage whatever distance was left between the two of them, "I think you need a break."

He opened his mouth like a teaser of what he might look like when he was talking, just without the sound to complete the look.

"I know your father keeps you busy, but I'll talk to him. I think you're getting sick of this, and I don't blame you."

He felt grounded only by the rushing images of the architecture and crowds passing his window faster than the tires rolled. 

He could speak, he knew, if he wanted to. But he didn't really want to, and he didn't quite know what he would say.

He focused instead on the way that outside of the glass window, people thought the car was going fast. Where he was sitting, however, they were the ones passing by too quickly to even be seen. 

The world was two-faced, he decided.

Maybe not quite that, maybe not always so deceitful, but it was definitely confusing. 

"Thank you, Nathalie." 

It was not spoken.


	10. Chapter 10

Normally when Chat Noir felt sad it was easy enough to spot, at least because she knew him so well.

His jokes were recycled, his smile was pre-formed, he tried to compensate with an overly-chipper tone.

But it wasn't like that so much, anymore.

He wasn't really _sad_ anymore, it was like he had just slowed down completely.

Like he had been frozen in ice, his mind turned to a glacier as everything in him except his heart beat and lungs had come to a pause. 

He moved swiftly like always but the movements were his body's, not his.

Conversations with him were detached and he often stopped to stutter over his words because he couldn't remember his next line in the script.

He wasn't hollow, he was still him. 

He wasn't trapped somewhere deep inside.

But he was away, floating somewhere off in space, thousands of miles from the nearest solid surface, too far gone for anything's orbit to reel him in close.

She didn't think he knew who he was speaking to right then.

She didn't fully think he knew he was speaking.

"What'd you do this weekend?"

He closed his eyes slowly but not gently. They fell like boulders, just as heavy and just as sluggish. 

He stared at her when he opened them, still but not stopped because he knew he had to think but he didn't know how. The question probably hadn't fit anywhere in his mental script.

"The akuma." He proposed. 

The most recent akuma had been on Thursday, which Marinette obviously knew, but she just nodded at him.

"Hmm. I was fixing my sewing machine and I finished up some homework."

"Homework." He echoed, meaninglessly.

"Yeah," She elaborated softly, "Physics."

He didn't respond with even a flick of his ear to let her know he had heard her, but she didn't allow herself to frown.

"I think you need to get to sleep, Kit-Kat." She remarked after a while. 

He didn't bother to readjust his blurry gaze to see the clock over her shoulder which read a proud seven in the evening. He just responded with a quiet, dumb "Oh." 

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes." He promised so earnestly in a silent breathy voice that she knew he meant "no" as soon as he said it. 

"Then I'll be waiting." She assured, just as emptily, "Please get some sleep?"

He looked at her again with an emotion that held no name, no description for it's weight, but she still deciphered with ease. 

And then he was gone, leaving the room somehow more whole than before. 

She hadn't been expecting him that night, or she might've baked something for him. Maybe cleaned her room. 

But it was more spur of the moment when she couldn't focus on her work and another pencil tip shattered in her grip and another torn cut of fabric had to join her growing pile.

She couldn't live with him like that. It hurt her too deeply to feel like pain.

It was a foreign sort of intimacy to have her soul so entwined with his, but they were soulmates after all; suits on or not, candle lit dinners as lovers or game nights as friends, they built each other. 

So back with her old tricks she put on the red boots she had gotten for her birthday, threw an almost matching jacket around her pyjamas and set off on a walk to the tower.

It hadn't taken long for him to come stumbling down from whatever vantage point he had been zoning out on to reach her side.

She didn't think he went home most nights anymore.

"Hey Mari," He put a friendly hand over her shoulder as he fell parallel to her, "It's late."

She kept her eyes trained on the tower. She couldn't see his face. She couldn't see the red-rimmed eyes and tangled hair and gaunt cheeks she knew he had.

"It's not even six." She argued.

"It's dark." He stumbled quickly.

"Yeah, but it's also winter."

She still couldn't look at him. 

He'd look so sick and it would break her heart because he _was_ sick and he didn't know that he was the person she woke up for most mornings and risked her life for most nights and she couldn't _see_ that.

"Huh." He agreed weakly.

She leaned more closely into his hand so he carried on.

"Can you still go home?" He attempted, still obviously uncomfortable with whatever looming threats he saw in every quivering shadow. 

She only shrugged, but it enough for him to scoop her up and set her down on her balcony before she had registered they were flying.

Something twisted inside of her because she knew she'd have to look at him to thank him, but she couldn't, she _couldn't_.

It gnawed at her throat, grinding her vocal cords against each other until they frayed, because she couldn't make him better with the snap of her fingers, she couldn't just lucky charm this away, and she didn't know how else to fix things anymore. 

"What'd you do this weekend?" She asked him instead while something that wasn't her pulled her gaze up to his.

He looked fine.

His eyes were their normal green.

He didn't look gaunt, he didn't look like his shadow had merged with his body to create a walking frame of sharp angles and ashy skin. 

He looked fine.

He looked healthy. He looked like her best friend.

"The akuma."

It was worse.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not very good yeah but also struggled a lot with this chapter I'm not very good with action scenes if you cant tell sidbjdbf pls roast me

Marinette's head dropped to her desk and her groan of exasperation covered the thud of her skull against wood.

The third akuma of the month had announced himself outside just before the lunch bell was set to ring.

Ignoring the complaints of her stomach she peeled her head back up and pretended to exit the classroom with the rest of her home room before slipping away when the crowds merged and got more confused. 

She had a city to protect, no matter how inconvenient it could get.

By the time she made it outside, her partner was already there. He was taunting it like usual, leading it away from most of the traffic.

She flipped up onto the roof of the school, throwing her yo-yo out around a nearby chimney and began to follow them to the park. 

"Hey!" She called sharply, "Chat c'mere!" 

He vaulted over to her without even turning to check who it was, narrowly missing the akuma's hit.

"What's his issue?" She nodded her head to gesture at the akuma.

"Well, luck is on our side today," He offered a tired smile, "Angry chef. Throws everything you can find in a kitchen from whisks to ovens to knives."

She threw her head back with a groan, "You're kidding me." 

"I wish," He agreed, "I think I know where the akuma is though. Check the apron pocket."

She frowned when she saw it. "That's disgusting."

"Yep." He popped his 'p'.

"Did he really shove," She paused to squint, "What is that? Sushi? In his pocket?"

"I wouldn't question it, 'Bug. Anything he throws touches you and it starts to follow you. Sounds stupid, but getting beaten to death with a rubber spatula doesn't sound like fun, does it?"

"Yeah it's not really how I was planning to spend my afternoon."

She called for her lucky charm, frankly tired of the fight before it even started. A flashlight landed in her open palms and she hooked it to her belt when her vision remained in full color. 

Chat Noir had already returned to fighting, taunting and teasing loudly as he could. 

Ladybug hooked her yo-yo around a tree branch to swing down to the grass, but she tripped over her own feet when she saw him flung back against a bench by a kick he did nothing to block.

She fell down ungracefully and ended up stumbling to catch herself from falling, dragging her feet painfully across the dirt to slow herself down. 

"Chat!" She called, "What are you doing?" 

She did not wait for an answer before she kicked off of her throbbing ankles, jumping to meet the akuma at eye level. 

She hadn't been around to hear him announce his name, and she frankly didn't care enough to ask. He was tall, but not impossibly so, and all dressed up in a chef's uniform save for the black gloves and mask around his eyes. 

She caught his eye as she was in the air, and the world melted to grey. The solution was not creative, but then again, the akuma really wasn't either. 

She looked over at her partner, and he was still dizzily standing up, bracing all his weight against the side of the bench. 

"Cataclysm the pocket when I give you the opening!" She called, and he responded by taking a shaky step forward and nodding up to her. 

She carefully dodged the stream of forks and blenders, jumping to hook her leg around his neck and hang from his shoulders. She braced herself with one arm around his forehead and used the other to shine the light directly in his eyes.

He stumbled back, swatting vaguely in her direction, forgetting to fire his string of weapons. 

She never saw Chat move, but eventually a black butterfly floated into her vision and she pushed herself off of the akuma's shoulders back to the ground.

She caught the butterfly in her yo-yo but a weak, "Lady," froze her before she could purify it. 

She whirled around to see Chat Noir kneeling on the ground in front of the akuma, staring desperately at his fingers.

He looked up at her and choked, "I'm bleeding."

She dropped to the ground in front of him, already forgetting how quickly she had crossed the few metres that separated them.

Her breath started to shake and her hands froze as they reached out to touch the wound. She couldn't tell how bad it was against the color of his suit but the fact her fingers were stained red was enough for her to feel sick. 

"How?" She demanded, eyes still wide and voice still wobbly. 

"Bench." His voice was watery, but he didn't sound as pained as he did shocked. 

She snapped her eyes over to it to see a massive splinter in the deformed wood sticking straight out through the side.

"Chat, I'm-" He brain had stopped working, only stuttering a few steps forward every couple seconds, "Are you-? Does it hurt, I mean, how bad is it? I didn't even-"

He blinked slowly, not fully focused on her as the adrenaline dulled, "Magic it away," he whispered, "Please."

She fumbled to grab her yo-yo and the flashlight while he continued, "The news- The newspapers are here." 

His voice wavered and slowed more with every word. 

She tossed the lucky charm into the air as the released the white butterfly, not willing to tear her attention from the boy in front of her so she could say her regular catchphrases.

Reporters, as he had promised, were beginning to trickle into the park, so she scooped him into her arms the moment the ladybugs stopped fluttering around his chest and swung them to the nearest building. 

She lay him down against the short wall fencing the roof, press entirely forgotten by the time she had completed the motion, and sunk into a crouch to meet him. 

"Chat Noir," She jabbed a hard finger against the un-frayed patch of his suit that covered his former wound, "Care to explain what the fuck that was?"

He crawled further in on himself, ears still ringing and bile climbing up his throat. 

"You're going to change back." He choked around the nausea.

She clenched her jaw, leaning dangerously forward into his space. He pressed against the wall before she snapped, "And you're damn lucky I am. I might've killed you myself." 

Her promise replaced the ringing in his ears, being thrown around his mind for the next seven grueling hours, eating his focus and growing like the cavity where his turning stomach used to be. 

By the time patrol arrived, he had succumbed to the anxiety, kicking his leg silently at the edge of a rooftop. It was barren except for him, a brick chimney in the middle, and the nausea that still refused to leave him. 

By the time she was next to him, he didn't want to dare open his mouth, too frightened he might throw up all the nerves.

His body shook slightly from his core outwards and the hand she lay on his shoulder only made it worse, so he gently lifted it off. 

"Hi, 'Bug." He offered.

"Hi, Chat." She returned with a soft voice, "I'm not angry anymore." 

He turned to look at her, swallowing down the bile in his throat. 

"No?"

"Not really," She confirmed, joining him in swinging their legs, "Kind of scared though."

"Why?" His voice was shaking still, not out of fear so much as due to the haywire nerves still flashing at nothing all through his body. 

He shot his gaze back down the the edge of the ceiling he had grasped beneath his palm, tracing the same few inches of the edge back and forth with his eyes. 

"Chat," She tried to soothe quickly, "You saw the way you were fighting earlier, didn't you?"

She tried to lay her hand over his but he flinched away, so she moved to pick at her suit over her other wrist instead.

"I mean," She continued with a shuddering, humourless laugh, "It was dangerous. I was so _scared_ , you weren't even trying. I just-"

He was still silent, eyes trained firmly at the ground. They were blown wide open and he looked like stone save for the shallow breaths he took every other second that made his chest shake.

"I have to keep you safe," She begged him, "You're the most important person in my life, I can't lose you to this. You're-"

"You're benching me?" He whispered finally to the concrete beneath his feet.

"I'm not- I mean, yeah, but-"

"But this is all I have," His voice was still small, more tiny than she had ever heard it, but what hurt worse was the lilt of confusion. He genuinely thought she was hurting him on purpose, he actually believed she was acting against him and he didn't know why.

She sniffed pathetically, not really aware she was even crying, "You're going to kill yourself like this."

"Maybe that's what I want." He supplied. It was not aggressive, his voice was still soft, but the confusion and melted into defensiveness.

"You don't mean that."

"It doesn't matter," His voice wasn't small anymore, but it wasn't loud by any degree, "You can't just _bench_ me."

"It's only temporary, and I'm not going to leave you alone! We can still meet up like this! Talk like normal and we can try and get you help, and-"

"I don't need _help_ , Ladybug, I need to fight Hawkmoth. You of all people should know that! I mean, I can't just take a mental health break from being a superhero."

"I've talked to Master Fu already, he-"

"So now you're talking behind my back?" He accused, launching himself upward and pacing towards the centre of the roof, suddenly unable to stand their close proximity.

"You're not being fair," She tried to reason, adjusting her grip on the corner of the wall so she could twist her top half to face him. 

"No," He shot it back at her, "You're the one who's taking it upon herself to bench her partner just because he's been a bit tired."

"Are you kidding me?" She finally stood up with those words and marched over to him with a reddening face, "Tired? You're fucking depressed, Chat Noir, and I'm not the one who's being selfish for not wanting you dead!" 

"I'm not going to die! I'm not depressed, you just want to get rid of me." He spat.

"Stop doing that!" She snapped, "You know that's not true."

"I'm not going to fucking kill myself in an akuma attack, that's what your ladybug magic is for."

"Chat Noir," She warned, "I do not want your _life_ to depend on some magical bugs, okay? I'm not risking that."

"Next time just tell me to my face if you want a new partner." 

"You're being horrible. You're being horrible, you can't just _say_ that."

"Yeah, and you can't just get rid of me the moment I'm inconvenient, but here we are."

"I'm not getting rid of you."

"I don't give a shit, 'Bug." He retreated back a few steps, a look of what was most nearly disgust molding his face, "Have fun with your new partner."

" _You're_ my partner,"

"Well, you're not really acting like I am!" His voice got louder again with the accusation. 

"Stop it, Noir." She demanded, "You know why we have to do this."

"I really don't." He returned, drawling his words to create an aggressive sort of sarcasm.

"I don't want you dead!" She repeated, a biting tone sinking more deeply into her voice as their frustration grew.

"This isn't your fucking decision!"

"You're not thinking straight," She lashed.

"So now I'm crazy?"

"Yeah, actually, you're starting to sound like it!"

"This is the only good thing in my life." He gripped the corner of the chimney near him, and the stone grated against his palm. "You're ruining the only good fucking thing I have and I'm the crazy one?"

"Chat," She reasoned, still angry but softening her bite, "I'm not trying to-"

"Shut up, Ladybug." He snapped, flaring her anger again. Before she could reply, however he continued, "Just fucking shut up."

He stumbled backwards a few more steps to close the distance between her and the edge of the wall, slamming his pole against the concrete hard enough for a few gravel-sized pieces of concrete to pop out from under it. 

He launched himself upward before it was stable, forcing himself farther away every time the stick wobbled.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDAL IDEATION_

He knew he wouldn't act on it. 

He could feel the familiar little whisper creeping up from behind his neck before it even whispered. 

It was the same one that used to visit when his brother died and his mother disappeared. 

It didn't mean anything, not to him anyway.

Easy enough to ignore.

Brush off.

Lock up.

It wasn't even a real idea, just intrusive. 

A small passing thought with less meaning or weight than it should have probably carried. 

_Kill yourself._

He would never.

_If you were dead, Ladybug couldn't bench you. You wouldn't have to do this._

Imagine the press.

_It's so easy._

He didn't want to die.

But he still didn't bother to control the landing as he flew through his window, so his ankle rolled under him as his entire body weight crashed onto itself. 

He collapsed onto his other leg and his hands, his face barely hovering over the cold floor as Plagg released their transformation. 

"Don't say anything," Adrien warned, voice uncharacteristically deep to mask the way it rattled.

His words took the long way out, snaking around his esophagus, choking him and getting stuck on their own tail end, wobbling and writhing without any real attempt to leave his mouth. 

"Please," That time his words were not so commanding. Things were too difficult. He was begging.

Plagg didn't want to be quiet though. He was too scared, too horrified at the prospective repetition of history. 

He had lost Chat Noirs in the past, to things like this.

"You know," His voice was warmer than it normally felt, and that did not go unnoticed, but Adrien chose not to comment, "I can hear your thoughts. In the suit, I mean."

Adrien clenched his jaw as tightly shut as his fist, "Shut up, Plagg."

"You know that's not healthy? For your first solution to be that?" The kwami prompted anyway.

Adrien's eyes fell shut, head still angled to the floor, and he did not respond.

"Kid, listen. I get it. Ladybug shouldn't have benched you, that was shitty. But also? You're dangerous, kiddo. You're hurting yourself."

"I'm not hurting myself." Adrien whispered to the floor under him, before snapping his eyes open and kicking up off the heels of his palms and stumbling to sit a few meters over with his back leaning against the wall. 

Plagg followed him, flying a few inches from his shoulder. His voice was still warm when he answered, but he had dropped it to be as soft as Adrien's quiet rebuttal had been.

"Your hand is bleeding."

Adrien followed Plagg's gaze down to his fist and his only quiet note of surprise when he saw the blood beading around the crescent shaped marks in the centre of his palm was a solemn, "Oh."

With no indication that the boy planned to continue, the kwami saw it fit to do so, "You're not healthy, Adrien." 

His words were slow. They were controlled, like he was reading from a mental script he'd rewritten every time Adrien had ever been sad.

"Suicide? That's not- You don't just-" He paused to restart as his thoughts began to knot, "You're terrifying me, if I'm being honest, and I don't know what to do."

Adrien had not managed to pry his gaze from his bleeding palm, too entranced by the way they stained his skin to feel the way it hurt when the cold air scratched it, but he still managed a reply, "I'm not suicidal Plagg."

"I'm not saying you are," Plagg contended, "I'm saying that it was a sign of your mental state when it crossed your mind to begin with."

He stiffly closed his hand and let it fall to settle in his lap. He let his head hit the wall behind him and his eyes flutter shut against the bright overhead lights.

"I don't want to die," His voice was still rubber.

Plagg saw the conversation close in front of him, so he settled with quickly flying up to nestle in his chosen's hair and try to coax him to sleep.

"I know you don't, kid."


	13. Chapter 13

They weren't rare, those clandestine little meetings of theirs. Diving into the other's bag or disappearing together to another room simply because they missed each other.

Tikki always halfheartedly reminded him that it was dangerous, and Plagg always dismissed it with equal tepidity.

What was common was the back and forth, the yin and yang. The sarcastic eye rolling and the pointed hushing and the teasing in between bouts of laughter.

But this meeting was shaking like a leaf. It was eyes blown wide and stuttering out worries as soon as they were formed enough to pass. It was rushed and unsteady and terrified. 

"Tikki," Plagg breathed, hovering far enough away for her to hear but not console him, "I don't know what he's doing."

Every statement seemed more like an admission. Like Tikki's silent state was an interrogation and the empty classroom had hands cupped around ears outside every wall.

"I don't know what to do this time Tik', he's- I don't know, he's just-" His words were rushed. Tripping over each other in such haste to be released that no single full thought managed to escape. 

He took a quick breath to gently restart, but his voice still shook and never raised above a confused whisper.

"Last night, when he was coming through the window to get home, he landed really bad. He didn't care." His eyes were as wide as they could get, but he was focused only on her. 

He blinked a few times between every word, as if it would stop the not-yet-present tears from clouding his dry eyes, "He broke his ankle. Shattered it, actually, it must have hurt like all hell. He didn't even notice. How do you not notice that? I healed it for him and didn't bring it up, but I'm just, I don't-"

Tikki hadn't spoken yet. She knew once he started it was difficult for him to stop talking, and she thought it might even just be better to let him get it all out before she offered her help.

"He's not even aware of himself. I don't think he knows when he's awake." Plagg rambled on, managing somehow to speak more rapidly than before, "When he gets home, he just sits there. At his desk. He doesn't do anything. Like, he'll just sit there with his head resting on his hands, staring at the wall for hours."

"He doesn't sleep anymore. I don't remember when he last ate a full meal. He won't answer you if you speak to him. It's like he doesn't remember he's alive half the time."

Tikki had flown them down at some point in the middle of his rush, and he passively registered the feeling of the cool metal table against his feet as she sat them down, but the notion was gone before he could dwell on it.

"I love this one, Tikki," He whispered, and his voice had dropped some two octaves in doing so, "I can't lose him."

His eyes had not yet began to water, his terror clouding any other sort of tearful emotion that might beg.

"I _won't_ lose him," He quickly revised, "But he's dying."

Tikki rested her head against the side of his, finally bringing herself close as he continued.

"He's killing himself." He paused before he continued, trying to steel himself before his next few words but his voice broke anyway, and he dropped his head as it splintered, "This always happens."

"Plagg," Tikki whispered suddenly. She didn't continue. Didn't have to. They both knew what she meant.

"Please can you just tell Marinette to talk to him?" He begged, voice too soft to crack again but still just as brittle, "I don't know how to help him."

"He needs therapy, or something. We can't help him as much as he needs, you know that." Tikki reasoned gently.

"I know that, but he needs to just- He has to live to get there first."

Tikki stayed leaning against him, stayed quiet for a moment to form her words, and Plagg filled the silence by slowing his panicked breathing to match the pace of hers.

"God, Plagg," She offered in the end, "I'm so sorry."

He didn't answer immediately either, as if a few moments of wait would prove her sincerity.

"Me too."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I disappeared for a while, it took a bit for me to figure out where I'm going from here. This chapter isn't much but I hope to get some better ones up soon. <3 you all

"Plagg." It had been the first word he'd uttered for days. It was a call, the prompt for a question, but he had phrased it as a statement, freestanding and meaningful.

Plagg didn't speak, but was hovering above the boy's shoulder before another breath could rustle the still air.

"Plagg?" His voice was still rigid, firm and whole, but his words were not quite so full, "I keep thinking. I don't know what my brain is saying but it won't stop."

He sounded confused as he aired his concerns in short, broken announcements.

"It all feels weird."

Plagg stopped hovering and gently floated down to nestle himself between the Adrien's neck and shoulder. "What feels weird, kid?"

"You know how people have, like, a whole list of places the want to go or experiences they want to have?" He began.

"Like visit, I don't know, Machu Picchu or go on a Red Cross mission trip? Stuff like that?"

Plagg nodded slowly against Adrien's neck, "A bucket list?" He provided. 

"Yeah," The kid agreed quietly, "A bucket list."

"What's weird about a bucket list?"

Adrien fell silent, so Plagg did too, just counting his chosen's slow breaths until he managed to continue.

The silence grew long but not overbearingly so, just as it grew heavy but never quite crushing.

"There's nothing I want to do before I die." 

And the quiet was splintered. 

"If I were to die tonight, I don't think I'd regret it."

Shattered.

Plagg had no answer. He did not pretend to have one nor did he pretend he could breathe at that moment.

"And that's so bad, I know it's bad," Adrien rambled thoughtlessly, "That's why Ladybug hates me. I don't know why things are happening. I don't remember anything anymore," His words began to get more frenzied, and Plagg wasn't fully sure he was aware he has thinking out loud. 

"I used to be fine just doing things all the time and I used to remember what I had to do, and I used to be _better_ at everything. But now everything is _stupid_ , and it all feels pointless, and I'm not good at things anymore and everything I'm thinking all the time is stupid and pointless, too, and-"

"Kiddo," Plagg forced himself to postpone his shock, as he tried to get Adrien to stop.

Adrien flinched as his kwami interrupted him, either because he had forgotten Plagg was there or had forgotten that he, himself, was real. 

Neither was too bothered to guess.

"Can I tell you something?"

He didn't reply, but stopped his rushed explosion and gave Plagg the space to intervene.

"Do you know why you were picked as Chat Noir?"

Adrien dropped his flushed face down to rest his chin in his hands and allowed his eyes to flutter shut as he gently shook his head in response.

"Chat Noirs have a lot of power," Plagg began, "The power of the cataclysm can destroy whatever you want it to. If someone were to dream big enough, they could turn galaxies to dust with a snap."

Adrien's eyes were still closed, but his face was more pinched as if the idea of such strength left him nauseous.

A quiet, "Jesus Christ," was all that prompted the kwami to continue.

"You're the first Chat Noir we've had for centuries. I had to be retired, only to be brought out again if it was strictly necessary and there was a perfect candidate to weild the ring, because my previous owner wasn't like you."

Plagg shook his head quickly, nervously, "He was kind. He cared about his family and his friends. He loved his town and everyone in it. He was well liked, self-confident and outgoing. But he wasn't like you at all because he loved life so terribly much."

"He loved every single flower and every single stone, and he loved waking up every morning, and when a Chat Noir comes along that isn't willing to destroy something, it's bad news." Plagg continued.

"He became resentful to anything that threatened him and the beautiful life we had worked for. He was bitter towards anything imperfect and anyone who wasn't completely, one-hundred percent _good_."

Plagg let himself exhale a few times before carrying on, "I don't think he ever even saw himself decay. He destroyed anything that came in the way of him and perfection. He became his own villain."

Adrien lifted his hands from holding his chin to covering his face as he breathed, "What's the point of this Plagg?"

"My point is it takes a special type of person to use this particular Miraculous. Finding a Ladybug is a hell of a lot easier. There are a lot of happy, good people in the world."

"Your miraculous is an invasive one. It destroys everything, including its weilder. Just because someone wants to fight the bad doesn't make them fit for it, okay? To be a candidate for the ring, you have to be naturally self destructive."

Adrien's breath stopped and he slowly picked his head up from his hands. Blinking at Plagg, he exhaled a small, "What?"

Plagg softened his green eyes, and flew to settle in Adrien's newly freed hands. 

"I know it's hard to hear, kiddo, but that's the truth of it."

Adrien shook his head, eyes still blown wide, "I'm not-"

"You are." His kwami gently interrupted, "All the best ones are. For a guardian to choose you, it has to be pretty clear that when the ring starts to corrupt you, you'll destroy yourself before anything else."

Plagg hesitated for a moment before he expanded, knowing he wasn't exactly supposed to share most of this information, "Ladybug's 'test' when the Guardian was looking for wielders was about action. It was about whether or not she would jump in when she saw something wrong."

Plagg tried to smile, but it was weak. Too faint to count and gone too quickly to notice, "Yours was about what you were willing to give up to help somebody. You gave up, or at least thought you were giving up, the chance to go to school if you were to help Fu when he pretended to fall, and you still chose to help him."

The kid's mouth floated open, but nothing came out. All of his garbled, strangled thoughts were silenced as he tried to get his lagging mind to argue. 

"So I don't want to die?" He choked.

Plagg softened more, and he replied with a tight frown, "Not how it works, kid. Yeah, you do."

"Can I?" He demanded with a whisper.

"What, are you, like, asking for permission?" Plagg tried to clarify, already looking prepared to refuse.

"No," Adrien translated, "I meant 'can I', like when we're fighting an akuma? Can I die in those battles?"

Plagg traced around one of Adrien's fingers, silent long enough for the kid to get restless but not give up on the answer.

"Kid, one day you're going to see the bad side of invincibility." He was vague. Adrien could see right through it, but didn't care to point it out until the kwami finished, "And maybe that's the day you'll understand that nobody can be immortal."

"You didn't answer my question,"

"You keep living like you have somewhere to be. Death is the result, kid. Not the destination."

"Can you just give me an answer?"

"I don't trust you enough right now." Plagg was blunt, true, but it was all that seemed to work, "You have to go to sleep."

"I don't really want to." Adrien muttered as Plagg flew up from his hands and over his shoulder, so he had to twirl his chair back to keep the kwami in sight.

"I didn't say you should. I said you have to. Good night, kid."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the accidental hiatus I just kind of didn't know how to write what I wanted to and every time I tried to start this chapter it just felt kind of wrong, if that makes sense? I'll try to be less horrible about it, I'm really sorry

His father was home for the first time in a month, and even though Adrien knew he would leave for Japan in the morning, the mansion's air was stifling. Suffocating.

It made his skin itch and burn and his mind felt foggy and every gulping breath he took tightened his throat just a little bit more.

"Plagg," He whispered, "I have to go."

He inhaled shallowly before continuing, sounding more panicked with every word, "Can we go, Plagg? I have t- I can't be here right now, I can't. I-"

"Adrien, slow down." Plagg soothed, suddenly in front of his face, "You know the words."

Adrien calmed down slightly, but his hands still shook as he transformed and the nausea was still dizzying.

He knew where his body was taking him, somewhere in the back of his mind, but he was too focused on the way the cool air was able to soothe his nerves and let him think for the first time in days.

He allowed the sight of the clouds to swallow his nausea and the cars passing by helped with the aches in his muscles.

By the time he saw the bakery, he felt too high on the clarity to turn back, euphoria morphing into impulsivity.

He had tapped on her window before he knew he had reached it, and the gentle guilt of the action nearly swept him away until the glass under his knuckles was replaced by air.

If he had been paying attention, he might've seen the way every classic stage of grief passed through her eyes, but he didn't. 

He only saw the blurry _her_ , and the pink walls behind her.

He gestured vaguely that he wanted to be allowed in, and she moved out of the way wordlessly. 

He loved it in her room. 

It was the embodiment of homeyness. It was the personification of love. It was priceless and it gave his soul value and it made his blood pump faster, and he _loved_ it there.

He chanted it in his mind like he was sure he would forget if the thought stuttered even once.

He repeated it like he wasn't still suffocating and hating the way every breath was choked out because he refused, absolutely _refused_ to feel trapped in a place like her room. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his claws into his palms because he loved it there, he loved it there, _he loved i-_

"-Noir! Chat, are you listening?"

His eyes flew open. 

Marinette. 

She was yelling. 

Why?

What had she said? She was upset.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, ignoring the quiver in his voice, "What's wrong?"

She blinked at him gently before grabbing his wrist and leading him over the her chaise. She sat him down before dragging her desk chair over and straddling it backwards with her arms folded over the top of the backrest.

"What's wrong?" She mirrored.

Chat smiled slightly, answering quickly to cover his sniffle, "I asked you first."

Marinette hummed, "Mhmm, right, but you're forgetting the most important part."

"What?"

"You forgot about the part where I don't care and I'm the boss and you have to answer."

Chat snorted slightly and he dropped his gaze to his folded hands.

"Nothing's wrong, Mari."

"Oh, of course. You know my favourite hobby when nothing is wrong is having a minor panic attack in my friend's bedroom." She snapped quietly.

Chat winced slightly, and her tense posture dissolved.

She deflated and softened her tone before quickly apologizing, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get mad, I'm just- it's that I'm just so worried about you, and when you won't talk to me I get scared, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Mari." He supplied gently, but showed no signs of elaborating.

"No you're not." She shook her head with a whisper, "You don't even care. I mean," She paused with a cold sort of empty little chuckle, "You're not blind, Noir."

He dragged his gaze up from his hands to meet her eyes, and forced it to stay there even after he saw the exhaustion in them.

"You can see yourself spiralling, don't tell me you can't because I refuse to believe it. You're giving up." The last part was whispered, nothing more than a silent mumble, but it didn't hide the way her voice broke on the last word.

"I'm not giving up," He tried to reassure as he saw her shoulders sag and her eyebrows knit.

"You better not," She warned near-silently, dutifully ignoring the waver and the cracks.

"I won't give up." He stood up from the chaise and took the step and a half to reach her chair before dropping to a squat next to it and resting his hand on her bicep.

She dropped her posture so her forehead rested on her arms and she could see his face in the window between the top of her arms and the side of her body.

Her lips were parted because she couldn't breathe through her nose anymore and the shallowness of her breathing had caused it to quicken.

She pursed her lips quickly before they parted again and she sniffled, "Listen, Noir. I don't honestly think you know why you're alive right now, but I do, okay? I can see why you're supposed to be here, and if you give up on yourself, I promise I will be devastated."

He gently tightened his grasp on her arms and she knew the intentions behind it were meant to be reassuring, but it didn't work.

"I miss you. I miss you so much." She smiled but it shook, and her voice was still barely audible.

"I'm right here," He promised, dropping his hand from her arm, "I'm here."

She sniffles again, sharply, and pursed her lips again, though this time they turned white.

"You're not." She shook her head as she spoke, as if she was trying to explain her words to herself as well, "You're not here. And I miss you."

She lifted her head so her chin rested against her right forearm and her left hand covered her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut against the unwelcome tears, and shook her head again.

"Just put on a movie or something." She ordered quietly because she could feel his helplessness beside her but she didn't want him to go just yet.

He crossed her room and dropped into a crouch to see the bottom few shelves of her bookcase. He didn't bother to ask for a genre, and he didn't think she quite cared, so he silently slid out the animated version of 'Cinderella' and placed the disk into the drive on her desktop.

"It's ready," He called once the advertisements began to play, and he had begun fast forwarding to the pop up menu.

She stoop up slowly, still wiping her cheeks furiously, and collapsed against his side.

He led them into a seated position on the floor in front of the desk, and neither one of them could fully see the screen, but he just hooked a careful arm around her and hugged her more tightly.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot begin to express how much the overwhelming amount of support and love left in the comments of the last chapter has affected me. I fully plan on answering all of your comments but I dont think I'll be able to give them worthy responses right now, so I'll try again later in the morning. I just love all of you guys so much. Thank you for being awesome <3

He had barely noticed it, when she said it, but it was corrosive.

The moment his boots touched his wooden bedroom floor and melted away into his regular trainers, his brain decided to hitch, frozen unrelentingly in that singular moment.

It eroded him until his entire conscious was the event, until every quiver of a heartbeat spelled out her words and until ever blink of his eyes was the heartbreak from which the sentence came.

_I miss you._

He had been there. He had been standing _right there_ , hand on her shoulder. He had been _talking_ to her, and she said he wasn't there?

It snaked around every other thought his mind tried to produce, circling around and constricting it before it he had the chance to hear it.

It crushed him from the inside out, destructive more with its longevity than its weight.

_I miss you._

It paralyzed him.

He was frozen in that single instance while he tugged on his shoes and changed into a new shirt. 

He couldn't move as he grabbed his notebooks and shoved them into his bag, and he couldn't speak as he missed the buckle for his seatbelt for the third time before Nathalie quietly tsked and reached over to do it for him.

_I miss you._

_I miss you._

_I miss-_

"-Drien? Are you listening? We're here."

He nearly jumped, but instead chose blurring out "I miss...," trailing off once he realized where he was.

"Missed the bell? Yeah, you did. Would you like me to walk to the office with you?" Nathalie gently informed him.

He bit down the nausea he was feeling and shook his head twice with an echo of a smile, "No, I should be fine. Thank you, though."

She smiled at him too, and her smile was just as tight as his had been, "Alright, then. Remember we'll be here to pick you up immediately after school to take you to the interview at six."

"I remember," He nodded slowly, grabbing the door handle with his right hand and his bag with the other, "Bye!"

He stood up from the car and began walking up the steps, gently tugging at his shirt collar with his free hand as he began to notice how much he was sweating.

He dragged the back if his hand against his browline, violently notifying him of how light-headed he felt with the coolness of his hands on his head.

He bit down forcefully on his tongue to ground him, knowing it wouldn't work.

He hadn't passed out since his mom disappeared and he stopped eating, but the feeling was the same.

Every movement rattled painfully in his skull and felt like tennis in his stomach, but he didn't have enough time to go slowly if he wanted to make it to the bathroom in time.

He threw a glance behind him to make sure the sedan wasn't waiting to see him enter the school, and he didn't bother to register the relief that it wasn't.

He collapsed against the door to the school, not bothering to try and push it with just his arms, and stumbled through the entryway.

He leaned heavily against the closing door, sliding down to a crouch on his knees as he looked around with spotting vision.

The locker rooms were closer than the bathrooms, and it would be empty because it was nearly fifteen minutes into the hour.

He grabbed the handle above him and used it to drag up his entire weight from the crouch he had been in and made his way over to the locker room, sticking to the walls so he could lean his shoulder against it while he didn't trust the pins and needles his legs had become.

His hearing was replaced by a high-pitched buzz as he grabbed the door of the room and tried to pull it open, and his eyesight was gone as it gave way under his weak grip and he forced his fingers into the small gap to push it the rest of the way.

His shirt was completely stuck to his torso, and his jeans were on the same path with his legs as his sweat turned cold and he closed the wooden door behind him and rolled back against it.

His legs slid out from under him and he slowly dropped until he was sitting with them straight out in front of him but he wasn't aware enough to notice it.

He registered the feeling of his shoulders as the door curled up to meet them and the back of his head dropped back to meet it, but the next time he felt anything it was the way his throat vibrated as he quietly groaned when he began to wake up.

He tried to open his eyes, but quickly regretted the pounding in his head that the action produced and squeezed his eyes shut instead. The tension it caused still hurt, but it was less severe so he settled with it.

He didn't need to get up to resign himself to the full day of fatigue he knew he would feel the from the moment he moved, but he did need to change out of his sweaty shirt.

He carefully hoisted himself up with his hands, nearly falling again from just how sickly he felt, but he simply leant back against the door until his vision cleared up again, and set off for his locker at the back of the room.

He reached it and fell against it, leaning his head against his forearm on the locker door to look down at the lock and input the combination. 

He unlocked it on the second try with his shaky hand, but couldn't bring himself to stand up from where he leant against the door to pull it open.

After a moment of steady breathing, and dutifully ignoring the goosebumps he pushed himself back and swung the door open with him.

He peeled his shirt off and put on a new layer or deodorant before changing into the spare shirt he had in his locker, but the motion was taxing enough to convince him not to bother with his jeans.

Instead, he just shut his locker and stumbled two steps backwards to the bench, not fully surprised when his attempt to sit down quickly turned into him sprawled completely across the bench, forced to lie down when a new wave of light-headedness overtook him.

Lying down was enough to remind him he was exhausted and gently pull his eyelids down, and he was able to momentarily forget how ill he felt until the bell for first period sang like an alarm clock and oh god, he was _fucked_.

He had never skipped class before for any reason other than an akuma, and during an attack it was never too suspicious if a student went missing.

He felt better than he had before he managed to fall asleep on the bench, and he was glad nobody had gym class until fourth period on Mondays so he was alone, but the rising anxiety was threatening any strength he had regained.

He ignored it, as he had gotten in the habit of doing.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bench and rose to a sit, only pausing for a brief moment to make sure he trusted himself enough to stand.

His head still hurt, and his nausea was still nearly debilitating, but he felt fine enough, so he pushed himself up from the bench and walked over to the door where his bag was sagging against the door frame from when he had haphazardly thrown it beside him.

He shoulders his bag and began to walk through the thinning crowd throughout the campus, realising as he walked up the stairs that he probably only had a couple minutes left to make it to class.

He quickened his pace, not allowing himself to enjoy the wa the cool metal felt against his hand as he pulled open the classroom door to find an empty room.

Well, not empty. Mlle. Bustier was grading some homework at her desk and Alya was still shoving her homework folder in her backpack, struggling to make it fit around the millions of notebooks also swimming around in it.

"What the fuck?" He breathed before he could catch himself.

It was to quiet for Mlle. Bustier to understand, but the noise made her look up, and Alya's reaction to hearing him curse had her looking up before he heard himself say it.

"Oh! Adrien, you're here." His teacher invited, "Where were you this morning?"

"I, um, I arrived late."

Her face twisted into some emotion he didn't care to decipher, but felt confusion was enough of an umbrella to cover it, "You arrived three hours late?"

He blinked at her, silent until she tilted her head at him and he remembered he had to respond.

All he could to was stutter out a choked, "Th-Three hours?"

Mlle. Bustier's confused face was replaced with one of concern while her eyebrows knitted together, "It's lunchtime, darling. Are you feeling well?"

He waved a hand in the air as he shook his head, "Yeah, no, I'm, uh, I'm fine. Just, uh, what did I miss?"

She frowned slightly, but it was gone before he could see it, and she replaced it with a reassuring tone, "It's okay. I didn't assign any homework, so just get Alya to show you the notes, alright?"

He nodded, mouth too dry to speak.

"Speaking of," She continued, briefly flicking her gaze to Alya who had been watching the entire exchange as she still stood behind her table, "You two go to lunch. I have to lock up the classroom so I can make it to a meeting."

Both of the kids apologized before tossing goodbyes over their shoulders as they walked out, and they fell into relative silence until they were in the courtyard.

"So," Alya broke the silence, "Care to explain to me what the hell that was about?"

He ignored the thick feeling in his throat and looked up at her with forced confusion.

She glared at him.

"Don't even try, Agreste. You show up to school three and a half hours late, looking like you just rose from the dead, and didn't even know what time it was?"

He followed her as she led them outside, and he forced himself not to squint against the sun lit sky.

"I didn't sleep well last night." He conceded as they walked down the steps of the school and Alya led them in the direction of the new cafe she had discovered with Nino.

"When was the last time you slept well?" Her voice had softened from the sharp accusation the tone in her initial question had been dripping with to a more gentle, soft concern.

"I, uh, what kind of question is that?"

She shrugged weakly beside him, "I dunno. Answer it."

He fell quiet for a second as he thought, but quickly grew frustrated at how many days she was asking him to consider, so he settled with an easy, "The night before yesterday."

"Alright," Alya lied, knowing he knew she didn't believe him, "Why didn't you sleep well last night?"

They had reached the cafe, so they walked up to the woman at the till and she ordered for the both of them. He stood frozen behind her, deaf to the world, moving only once to stop her from grabbing her wallet and offering his own. 

Once they had settled into a small table in the corner, food in front of them, and still untouched, Alya folded her hands in front of her and stared at him, not bothering to repeat her question.

"It's not even a big deal, Als. Everyone gets a bit of sleeplessness every now and then." He proposed.

"Not what I asked." She countered dryly.

"I- Listen, I don't think-" He sighed mid-sentence, to alleviate the feeling of tearing his hair out. There was no stopping Alya in interrogation mode and he knew it, "What are you doing?"

Alya looked surprised before narrowing her eyes, "What am _I_ doing?"

"Yeah," He explained as he dragged the plate with the plain croissant closer to him and began picking at the flaky exterior, never raising a crumb to his lips, "Why are you asking me these things?"

She dropped her eyes down to the tablecloth, inhaling pointedly as she began to construct her answer.

"Because, Adrien," She stopped again, considering the risk of what she was saying before she met his gaze again, "I think we both know that the night before yesterday was not the last time you slept well, was it?"

He knew she hadn't believed him, he wasn't _that_ dense, but he had never expected her to bring it up to him.

He froze. 

His hand hovered over the croissant he had been picking at and his eyes stayed wide open, staring into hers.

His face got hot too, and he didn't need to see it to know it was red, and his throat was so tight and his leg began to shake and he felt too exposed and he tried to breathe to calm himself down, but why did every breath waver so much?

"Oh my god, Adrien, are you crying?"

Was he? 

"I'm so sorry I didn't mean to make you cry, really, I didn't." She quickly tried to apologize, but he wasn't fully paying attention, "Here I have some tissues is my bag-"

Why was he crying? He was so embarrassing, what was wrong with him?

Alya hadn't even said anything, why did he start tearing up like a fucking infant?

Why was he so _stupid_?

"I'm sorry," He begged quickly as he furiously swiped at his eyes with the side of his hand, "I don't know why I did that."

She looked up from rummaging through her bag for tissues, and stared at him again, "You're fine. Everyone cries sometimes. But are you okay?"

"No," He argued with a panicked little laugh, still wiping the stray tears from his red face, "I mean, yes I'm okay, but I'm so stupid. I didn't mean to cry, I'm sorry."

Her face contorted into some mixture of grief he didn't ever want to become familiar.

"Okay," She settled breathily, more wanting to avoid upsetting him further than making her point, "Okay. Apology accepted."

He thanked her with a wobbly smile.

"But will you tell me what's going on?" She pried.

He pursed his lips as tightly as he could, until they didn't hurt anymore.

"Nothing's going on. I already told you."

"Adrien..." She whispered, and it was the first time he had ever seen her so raw. It was devastating.

She looked so upset and nervous and exhausted all at once and he had never seen her as anything less that fiery and powerful and it twisted him from the inside out until he broke.

"Yesterday night, a friend told me she missed me." He admitted.

She nodded for him to continue, eyebrows burrowing.

"I was standing right there next to her."

Any composure she had managed to hold on to melted.

"I- What does that even _mean_? I was right there, I- I don't-"

"Adrien," She interrupted and it was the first time he had ever heard her voice break, "I'm so sorry. Nobody deserves this."


	17. Chapter 17

Sad Chat Noir was nothing new to her, nor was he particularly a challenge. 

Joke with him, feed him, maybe force him to take stupid selfies with her and he'd be smiling like everything was okay again by the end of the night.

But depressed Chat Noir didn't leave the options to food and embarrassing photos.

He wasn't _sad_ , even, he was like walking stillness. 

He looked completely _unhinged._

His hair was swept every which way, and his eyes were so bloodshot she didn't need to see under the mask to imagine the deep purple bags under them. 

His face screamed panic when he thought nobody was looking at him, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't ignore the was his ribs looked ready to cut through the suit.

His movements seemed slow, and he stumbled over his words and he seemed so fucking _exhausted_ all the time.

He had thrown away what little sense self-preservation he had and replaced it with a fractured sort of disinterest. 

It wasn't that he didn't hear her approach from behind him while he sat on the deck of the Eiffel Tower, tail swinging lazily behind him as he leaned forward into the city.

He just didn't quite care.

He terrified her.

"Hey, Chat," She greeted as she slid into place to sit beside him.

She carefully lifted one of his hands off the metal floor and began to trace the seams.

A new nervous habit of hers, she supposed.

He blinked slowly, gently leaning back from where he had been teetering towards the city, so close to falling. 

"Hey." He echoed.

"Do you know what time it is?" She began to just run her finger in a half-circle around the edge of the nail on his index finger. 

He didn't really answer. He offered a weak sort of noncommittal hum and continued to stare blearily at all of Paris's lights. 

"It's half-past two." She supplied softly.

"Very late," He agreed, just as quietly, "Go to sleep."

"I will," She began, "But you need sleep, too. When was the last time you slept?"

He was quiet for a moment, sluggishly watching the thin flow of cars on the roads below, and by the time he answered he only managed to produce a tiny shrug. 

"Chat..." She whispered. She didn't need to say anything else, but she stopped tracing his hand and opted to just gingerly hold it between both of hers.

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he shook his head a bit before answering, "I, uh, I passed out this morning at school. Slept for like three hours in the locker room."

A part of her, the _biggest_ part of her wanted to tell him he was killing himself.

Wanted to show him just how much he was ruining himself, and tell him that she cared too goddamn much for him to be getting his only rest of the week from his body shutting down on him in the locker room.

She knew he wouldn't listen.

Maybe he wouldn't even care.

She didn't want to think about that.

"You look like you're pretty tired right now, though." She settled. She didn't know what else to say. _Was_ there something else to say?

He didn't respond for a moment, and she was nearly convinced he wasn't going to, but then he peeled his eyes from Paris's landscape for the first time since she had arrived, and turned to look at her.

He stared at her for a second, with a slightly open mouth as if maybe, in some perfect world, he wouldn't have to bother to think of a reply and the right words would just tumble out.

"Oh."

It barely counted as a word, let alone a response, but it somehow carried enough weight for her to feel him slipping through her fingers.

She wanted to get angry. 

She wanted to cry and yell and scream with a finger sharply jabbing every syllable into his chest, "Why don't you fucking _care_ , Noir?"

But the fact was he didn't care, and he wouldn't whether she was hysterical or calm, so she didn't see the need.

"Will you go to sleep tonight?"

She didn't need to be looking at him to know what he was thinking, but the way his frown deepened and his forehead creased just confirmed it.

_Why?_

"I need my partner in top shape, you know." She tried to joke, "Can't rescue all the cats from trees on my own."

But his frown only grew, and his eyes widened as his lazy blinking had become a biting stare.

"Yeah," He tilted his head slightly towards her, "What would you do without me?"

It rang in her ears a little, and she tried to ignore the sound of blood thrumming in her ears.

She couldn't help the way her heart fluttered because _yes,_ it had been said with a frown on his face and with a completely monotone, raspy voice, but it was a _joke_ either way.

It was Chat Noir she missed. 

"Getting cocky are we?" She whispered back, unaware of just how she managed to say that without crying into his arms.

He crushed the euphoria as soon as it came with a tilt of his head and a breathy correction.

"No," He explained, "I mean this job is dangerous. I could die whenever."

She didn't know what it was that sucked every future breath from her lungs.

Maybe it was the tiny bit of hope she suddenly felt so stupid to ever have had.

Maybe it was his cutting green stare as he stared into her eyes with pointed clarity.

Maybe it was both.

Maybe she was just tired.

"Oh," She eventually mumbled.

His stare did not relent at her lack of answer, but the way he tightened his frown was a sufficient indicator that it wouldn't be enough.

"I, uh, I don't like to dwell," She broke eye contact, focusing down onto her fiddling hands, but the way she still felt him staring at her nearly burned, "I haven't given it much thought, Chat."

"You didn't answer the question." He pointed out after he was sure she had nothing more to add.

He tugged his hand off of her knee where she had been playing with his fingers to clutch the edge of the tower, and she didn't need to see under his glove to know his knuckles were turning white.

Her knee felt colder.

"I don't know what you want me to say." She admitted.

"If I was gone," He repeated, and she hated the way his voice was brittle, "What would you do without me?"

She lifted her eyes back up to meet his, and she hoped the desperation in them would get him to back down, but he just stared back.

"Well," She sagged and she couldn't help the way her voice broke as she stared at his indifferent expression, "I'd miss you, if you were gone."

He was still staring at her, completely unmoving. 

A part of her wanted to squirm under his gaze as it hung for a few moments too long and the seconds stretched on for eons, but she decided to remain like a statue as he did.

The other part of her was just focused begging him to understand her words. Pleading for him to just understand that she'd _miss_ him.

She'd mourn him and never move on because being with him was like inhaling for the first time after nearly drowning, and he _completed_ her, and she _needed_ him.

So she just stared back, her own fiery gaze daring him to tell her the answer again wasn't enough.

And with the weight of whatever universe he had built in his head, he broke the silence with a single, quiet, "Okay." and stood up to ready his staff.

"Are you going to sleep when you get home?" She wasn't going to waste her breath trying to make him stay. He didn't listen to her anymore.

She hadn't expected him to answer, and the silence dragged on with his grip on his ready staff tightening every time she heard him exhale.

"See you tomorrow, then?" She tried again.

He turned around to look down at where she was still sitting, and it was the first time that night she had seen him look anything other than hardened or passive.

His voice was still firm, betrayed only by his conflicted face, "Good night, Ladybug."

He was rigid, but unfocused. He seemed to be only moving on his confidence in his own muscle memory as he tightened his grip on his staff and it shot out farther than she could see.

"Chat, wait," She tried for the third time as she saw his muscles tense in preparation to jump. He stilled, but didn't move, so she pressed on, "Please, just one more thing."

He didn't retract the staff, but he relaxed his posture ever-so-slightly.

"I just- I don't want-" Since when did she stutter around her partner? Since when were his eyes so caustic?

"Don't make me miss you." She concluded softly.

He was gone with a nod, nearly too small for her to see. She saw it only in the way it nested around her shoulders and carried her home, to sleep.


	18. update

Hey everyone,

A few of you guys expressed some concern over how long its been taking me to update this, and for that I'm very sorry. 

I shouldn't have just dropped off the radar like that without any sort of warning, so the fault is genuinely and completely mine.

A new chapter is in the works and has been for a while, I just haven't had the time to fine tune it the way I want to so it's not fully ready to come up. I also plan to pre-write a couple more chapters before I post the next one so hopefully we can begin to see a more consistent schedule, at least for a little bit.

I feel like I definitely owe you guys an explanation, especially since I left for an entire month without a word, I just hope that it doesn't come across like a load of excuses. I am genuinely both sorry and at fault for the way I handled the situation so poory, I just hope to let you all know why.

The truth of the matter is there are a couple reasons I haven't found the time to work on this.

I'm an essential worker, and my hours have been insane with so many of our other employees not having the means to come in or not feeling safe enough to, and I'm at a work all 7 days a week for a minimum of 8 hours.

The second reason is a bit harder, so please stop reading this explanation now if death is a trigger for you:

Both of my sisters passed last month. I don't really want to discuss the details because it's hard for me to talk about right now, but they were on their way home from their friend's house and they were involved in an accident. 

It's just, every time I sit down to write I'm just there alone with my thoughts and I can't distract myself from the memory of me telling them to get home before 10 so we could bake cookies together and then promising they would. 

We were all kind of standing together in the kitchen talking about plans for the evening for when they got home and it was such a nice, casual moment. I just didn't know it was the last one.

I wish I would've said bye.

I'm used to loss, so I know there's a way through, and I know i'll get back to writing. They were just, you know. Young. I thought I would've had longer.

Sorry, main point is my parents are devastated so I've been trying to take care of my brother as best I can, and thats been taking up a lot of the free time I have.

**(Skip to here if it was a trigger)**

Again, I'm sorry. I'll try not to do it again.

I don't know when I'll be able to get the next chapter ready, but I promise I'm trying to get it up soon.

I hope you all can understand, and thank you so much for the concern.

It is coming soon, I really hope I can get it out without too much of a wait. I just can't do it right now. I want to come back, I swear I miss writing so much. I barely know the right way to express this or if any of it makes sense, but I'm sorry. Time, I hope.

I love you guys. Really, I do ♥️


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone :)
> 
> Im sorry for taking so long, but I really wanted to thank all of you for being so understanding about why I had to take a break. I didn't manage to reply to most of the comments on the update I posted, but I read all of them, and they meant so, so much to me.
> 
> I'm going to try to be back, I don't know how its going to go, but I at least have this chapter.
> 
> Its not good, or long, or even proofread, so please don't expect too much. I'm just hoping this will help me get back into it.
> 
> I love you all <3 thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER: IMPLIED/REFERENCED SELF HARM AT THE END.
> 
> please stay safe if this is a trigger for you

He was outside.

She didn't think he knew she could hear him but it was past midnight and even Paris knew when to grow quiet.

His steps were near silent, and she couldn't hear anything else, but the soft scratch of his boots against the concrete of her balcony was a sound she knew so deeply even the foreign stillness couldn't mask it.

He'd been up there for a few minutes, pacing about slowly, but she didn't dare move. 

She only tightened her grip on her blankets, held her breath, and forced herself not to blink because this was the first time in weeks he'd been close to her of his own volition.

She hated the way she had started counting these moments.

She begged him to enter, to knock, to call for her near-silently in hopes she was awake, but he wouldn't.

He was just up there, alone, movements careful enough she'd think he'd left for a few agonising minutes in between the sounds of his footsteps.

But it came, eventually, just as her will was beginning to wear.

It came the way wind rustles the dry, autumn leaves that refuse to fall from the branch.

It came so suddenly and emptily she almost managed to convince herself it was her own cruel mind. She was simply a victim to wishful thinking.

But she didn't want it to be. She didn't want it to be leaves or her mind or wishful thinking.

She wanted it to be _him_.

So she tore herself up from her bed, she didn't think she'd ever cared less about keeping quiet, and she opened the door to the balcony to find it had been him.

It must have been him who called her name asking if she was up because he was still kneeling near the door, right hand raised in a tentative two fingers knock, and his mouth still hanging slightly open.

He was _there_. He had come to see her and she hadn't had to beg and she hated the way that made her cry, but she threw herself at him and in some loose way managed to communicate that he needed to _stay_.

He still didn't speak, she barely could, and she didn't think he'd know what to say anyway so she allowed him to just hold her. 

She'd seen him the night before as Ladybug.

She didn't know how those 26 hours managed to make her miss him so damn much, but everything about him felt so limited these days.

One more heartbeat.

One more breath.

One more milady, and one more fight, and one more joke and smile and hug, one more, one more, and that would be it.

Maybe it was just the time of night that made the present moment pass by like a memory.

She had never been religious, but she found herself wishing she had someone to pray to. To pray that she was wrong.

That maybe he wouldn't just become a list of one last times.

"Hey, Mari?" He whispered into her hair.

His voice was dry, so willing to turn to dust at the softest breeze.

She only hummed in acknowledgement, not trusting herself to speak so soon after managing to calm down.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded. He felt the motion against his chest, and didn't wait for the 'yes' both of them knew was not coming.

"What did you mean the other night? Y'know when you said you miss me?"

And then she felt trapped in his arms. 

She pushed herself off of him with the hand on his knee and settled to sit in front of him, suddenly hyper-aware of how cold the night air felt on her wet cheeks.

It was in that moment when she saw his face for the first time that the list of lasts offered a first.

It was the first time she realised that outside words were all he cared enough to understand right then.

She took in a shallow breath, barely enough to fill her lungs, but dragged on for long enough to make it seem like it did.

"I meant this is the first time you've come to see me in weeks. You're my friend and I love you and I never see you and even when I do, you're barely _there_. You're in your own world all the time. It's like-"

She forced herself to stop, feeling like she'd said nothing.

"I don't know," She concluded with a whisper, "I just don't know when it got so bad."

They allowed her statement to envelop them, and the only thing that failed to understand the heaviness between them was the rest of the world.

"You want me to get better?" 

It was a question.

It was a question which meant there were two possible answers and the thought of anything other than yes made her chest tighten. 

Out of rage or panic, she couldn't tell.

"Yes." She nodded a bit too quickly, "I want that so badly, Chat."

He forced a smile at her. He was gone again and she could tell.

"Go to sleep, ma princesse." The moment wasn't supposed to end that quickly. Everything felt wrong. "I'll visit sometime next week, okay?"

It was a pleasure disguised as assurance, but she nodded and stood up with him.

She didn't watch him go.

She'd have a next time.

He'd left too soon. 

Everything that should've been said swirled around him, potent enough to make his head thrum with the pressure and his stomach tighten with the uncertainty.

All he had to do to make it up to her was be happy again. All he had to do was just be good again, and she'd stop crying when she saw him.

He knew how to be okay. One method at least.

He hadn't resorted to it for a long time, not since his mother had disappeared, but he'd resisted it for long enough he concluded he could still call himself strong.

He didn't know if he was excited or horrified with himself as he made way to the bathroom.

He would feel so good, though. So happy. So okay, and normal, and fine, and Marinette could stop crying and the world would go back to how it used to be.

He grabbed a pair of shorts as he was walking to the bathroom, along with a pencil sharpener from his desk.

It would all be okay.

He changed quickly before sitting down to lean against the wall by the shower, and he tried to unscrew the blade from the sharpener with his fingernail.

It would all be normal.

The sharpener was cheap. Old. It was easy to unscrew without the proper tool, even if the tip of his finger did get a bit roughed up in the process.

It would all be fine.

He gently pulled back the hem of his shorts. The skin there was always covered. Never the victim of public eye or camera flashes.

And he felt so happy.

She'd stop crying.

She'd be so proud.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***tw: self harm and drug use***

He hated the fact that it worked but he like the euphoria better. 

She'd stop worrying about him again, and it'd all go back to how it was before.

Back when he was more of a thorn in her side rather than a whole roadblock.

Back to when she would talk about anything _but_ him.

When everything was strictly business with just a splash of arms-length fun.

But he was also cautious. 

He had spent half his childhood running down the halls with featherlight footsteps silent against the collapsing marble; his father made sure he knew just how deeply his faults defined him.

And he was a model, not an actor. 

God, how many times he'd been reminded of that one.

He couldn't lie to save his life, and he knew they'd all ask him why he was walking so slowly, why he sat down so carefully, why he was going to skip lunch again.

His father had never called him impolite, though, so he couldn't just tell them to piss off.

He'd picked up another vice back when his mother left. 

When he used to cut and he was still horrible at lying. 

Some bitter sort of afterthought lay heavy in his throat and made his head feel tight as he remembered it all because he'd really only been fourteen when he started.

But he had never imagined himself sticking around for too long, so it's okay that he didn't get too much of a childhood. It gave him the opportunity to experience the rest of a lifetime in what would likely only be a few more years.

No matter how long he told himself he had left, it didn't change the fact he could never let anybody else find out.

He'd be so nervous if his friends asked him about it. He knew they would.

He knew they would.

So he scrolled to the bottom of his contacts list, not that it was particularly long, and found Home (2) listed innocuously under his actual home phone number. 

He was only half surprised he still had the number.

He had the money.

If he left early he would have the time.

And he could almost feel it already.

It would be so calm, and his voice wouldn't shake, and his chest wouldn't feel so damn tight, and he'd be happy and then so could she.

Indica. Carts, so they wouldn't smell too much.

He'd have to explain his puffy eyes, but if he just explained that he woke up late maybe they'd be too content with the lie he had slept to bother looking any closer. 

Only a few hits and he wouldn't even be too out of it.

His legs still burned every time he took a step, and the hunger pangs nearly made him want to ask he elderly gentleman on the train if he could have the seat instead, just so he could cry and nobody would see anything with his head hung down.

He still consciously forced himself to believe that the images of the metro derailing and him being the only casualty were nothing more than normal, intrusive thoughts.

He didn't want to die.

He didn't want to die, which is why he smiled when his phone buzzed in his hand as he stepped onto the concrete platform.

_**Home (2)** _

_hey man u on ur way? ik its been a while so lmk if u got lost or sum_

His lips cracked as he smiled plainly at the screen, too used to the neutral frown he had been wearing recently to curve like they needed too.

But by the time he got to school he was floating, just sober enough pretend.

And Alya smiled when he told her he'd talked to his dad and they'd agreed to lighten up his schedule so he was less stressed. 

He laughed with Nino, and it felt like the very first time.

Marinette's shoulders relaxed when she saw him like this, but he didn't think even she noticed.

Just wait until his lady saw how good he was doing.

He was okay again.

He was happy to them.

She'd smile and it would feel brand new.

Because he didn't want to die. That's why he was doing this.

Because the thought of her being stupid enough to care was killing him faster than anything he could do to himself.

He just had to let her know how _good_ he was, and he'd go back to being a background noise.

That's why he was doing this.

Euphoria.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the patience, I'll try to post the part 2 of this chapter sometime today or tomorrow <3

She hadn't seen him in a while. 

He'd been away for a bit, admittedly on purpose, not terribly interested in worrying her more. 

And she hadn't really seen him as himself for a while longer. 

He couldn't recall how long. 

He didn't really want to. 

But he'd go see her tonight, he decided, at the Eiffel Tower. He'd been pretending not to know that she'd been waiting for him there every night, from 8 p.m. to midnight, for weeks. 

Every night he wouldn't go. Every night she'd wait, and every tomorro.w she'd return. 

He wasn't scared of her anymore, though, not with all these new vices walking everywhere with him, arm in arm. 

He'd officially relapsed into three of them at once, not that he cared. 

Back to the scales, the "diets", the kind refusals _("Oh, thanks for the offer," He looked a breath from the hospital, "I ate earlier though.")_ , the running his fingers over every protruding rib to calm down so he could sleep. 

Back to the box in the closet filled with all sorts of tabloid-worthy items, the timing his hits so he'd know exactly when he would be back to normal again, the tiny voice that told him weed would worsen his dissociation problem. 

And back to the bleeding, the scars, the bruises, the _"Huh, I guess I fell or something"s_. 

But they made him sane enough to smile for the cameras. 

The way his head felt tight all the time and the way he could barely sleep no matter how much he smoked and the way she was going to smile when she saw him was all that kept him going. 

"I don't want to die." He whispered to himself, clutching the back of his chair as he fought to stand upright. 

His eyes slid closed as he took a shallow breath, "I'm doing this because I don't want to die." He whispered again, more assertively this time. 

"If I wanted to die, I'd kill myself." He spoke it wholly that time, unaware of the way his voice still crackled like autumn leaves. "Right, Plagg?" 

He almost jumped back when he saw a blur immediately to his left. He hadn't known Plagg had been sitting so close to him. 

"What do you want me to say, kid?" 

That was startling, too. Plagg almost never responded to him these days, just silently guided him to his bed when his thoughts got too destructive. 

"What?" The word was slow. Most of them were. 

"I'm never going to agree with you, Adrien. Tell me what I'd do if I agreed with you now, and then one day you did want to die, and you told me I said you could?" 

"That's not what I meant." 

"Then what did you mean, Adrien?" 

"Stop calling me that!" He snapped, "You always call me 'kid' or some shit, stop using my name, it's stupid." 

Plagg fell quiet for a moment. 

"Okay," He began again, "Then just tell me what you meant." 

Adrien responded by waving a hand in Plagg's general direction, trying to shoo him away, "Just... God, you're so fucking irritating sometimes. Leave me alone." 

"You should go see her tonight." 

"Fuck. Off." Adrien nearly surprised himself. He'd never really addressed anyone with a tone like that. Just pure hatred. Something new. 

And Plagg did fly off, presumably to worry in silence from some corner of the room. 

Adrien had been planning to see her anyway, but he was too angry to tell that to Plagg. 

He felt guilty, though, to keep wasting her time, night after night, so he wasn't going to make her wait another day. 

Maybe he'd tell her his father had gotten him a therapist, he was on some new pills, he was eating fine, and his life was back on track. 

That's why he'd been gone so long. 

He'd just been getting good again. 

He could sell it. 

If he smoked just a little half an hour before they met, he'd be in great spirits for the entire meeting. If he skipped dinner again, he'd feel light enough to act bubbly, and if he placed a few strategic cuts he'd have something to remind him what he was acting for. 

He hadn't felt the time pass. His homework wasn't done. 

It wasn't going to be anyway. 

He didn't bother with an apology. Maybe it'd feel nice if Plagg yelled at him later, anyway. 

"Claws out." He deadpanned, not noticing how he wobbled because of the fog in his mind. 

Plagg zipped into his ring from wherever he'd been hiding, and Adrien cracked a dry, unholy smile when his vision began to spot. 

He felt so fucking okay.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry about the hiatus. Right off the bat, because I know this is probably going to be a fairly disappointing chapter. I do actually have the part where they talk it out written, and it's going to go up next, but I couldn't figure out a way to join the two parts without it seeming forced. I just have to edit that, and it'll be posted as soon as it's done. 
> 
> As to where I've been, this part has a trigger warning for death and just general mental health issues:
> 
> Basically, after what happened last year with my sisters I was really struggling with life in general, but I was staying busy so it wasn't able to catch up to me too much. A few months ago my grandfather attempted suicide, though, just a week after we got the news that a coworker of mine had died unexpectedly. I don't really know what happened but I guess I was just surrounded by so much death and I didn't have any time and I felt so out of control I relapsed really hard back into anorexia. I was eating maybe two or three times a week, and every time it was salad or something like that. I don't really want to get into it all because I don't want to trigger anyone by getting too specific, but in the end I could barely walk because I was so exhausted. Long story short I had to get checked into an in-patient facility. No technology was allowed most of the time I was there, so I couldn't update the story or any of you guys about what was going on. No matter what, I'm sorry I've been so long, and here we go :)

It was cold out. 

Maybe it wasn't, really. He just hadn't really been outside for a while. Sure, he'd had to work, but going from the house to a car to whatever building he had a meeting or photoshoot in didn't really count. 

Maybe it was the insomnia catching up to him, weaving its associated discomforts into his every waking moment. 

The lack of food, the weed, perhaps it was the so many other maybes he kept trying to ignore. 

In his slow mind, all he knew was the way he shivered. 

It came from his core, the feeling of freezing from the inside out. It travelled through his veins, made his joints feel like rubber, and his stomach churn as if there was anything in there to come up. 

It was so cold out. 

It was cold and he had time, so he wrapped his trembling hand around the frame of his open window and forced himself to turn on his toes, not standing from his crouch on the sill until he faced his room again. 

He had a box of hoodies on the floor of his closet, black and generic, specific for hiding from the cameras when he was out as himself. 

They'd work for this, too, he supposed. 

He thought it was a smart idea. It sounded like it might be. He hoped it was. 

He wouldn't know until the morning came, because his thoughts would be trudging through soft cement for the next several hours. 

He loved the way it almost ached, to think of nothing. 

He still felt cold when he stepped outside for the second time. Frigid, actually, but there was nothing more he could do, so he opened his staff and ignored it all. 

He liked the way his ears rang louder than the wind, no matter how fast he ran. 

He liked the way his legs felt heavy, even if being high dulled most of the pain. 

He liked the way he knew the way to the tower without having to think about it. 

He hated thinking. 

But he'd have to, because she was there. 

He hadn't expected her not to be. 

He didn't know why he was shocked. 

He was too far gone to act on his impulse to turn around. Autopilot only left him with the option of carrying on, there was no room for decision making. 

He liked autopilot. He liked how the minutes seemed to drip down from his eyes and swirl at his feet, leaving him begging just a few splintered moments behind reality. 

He liked the way he could forget something as it happened, nothing left to linger, rest across his shoulders as if he wasn't suffocating already. 

It was risk free, autopilot. 

So he couldn't turn around. 

He'd see her. 

She'd see him. 

He distantly noted the bubble of excitement that grew in his chest. 

This was his chance to show her how much he'd improved. 

He was better now. He hadn't been so good for so long, and she'd probably be delighted to see him this healthy. 

Maybe she'd like him, again. 

Maybe this meeting wouldn't end in anger or tears. 

Maybe, for the first time in months, he'd make her smile. 

She was lazily swinging her feet over the edge of the tower, knuckles surely white under her gloves to keep herself from falling. 

He dropped down behind her, trying to be gentle, but his bones felt like they were being weighed down with lead and anything truly physical felt miles away from him. 

"Hey," He whispered. 

Or maybe he hadn't whispered it. 

The more he thought about it the louder it sounded. The memory of the syllable morphed from a twinkling hello to a deafening yell. 

Or maybe he'd imagined that. 

He thought maybe, just maybe, he'd miscalculated. 

He wasn't calm. He wasn't good. 

He was high. 

And he nearly tripped forward as the thought hit him with material force. 

Or maybe it hadn't. 

He felt like he was rocking. Falling backwards then forwards over and over and over again but never committing. 

He didn’t feel light, or floaty, or pleasant anymore. 

He felt detached. 

He felt like he was lucid dreaming, but too focused on having to ground himself to enjoy it. 

He wasn't acting normal. 

The realization could've blown him over but he wasn't falling backwards anymore so he had no reason to worry. 

He wasn't falling forwards though. He had been just a second ago. 

And then he was aware of a pressure on his back and something louder than the ringing he'd been hearing and every muscle he could control siezed. 

"I'm fine," He insisted and the sound hung like a banner in from of him. He didn't know the question, but that response worked most of the time. 

He didn't want to be high anymore. He felt nauseous and shaky and his nerves were roiling and he could feel his every exhale turn the air to mud. 

But he was high. 

There was no going back. 

He felt like falling, for an instant, not backwards or forwards, but down. 

The pressure was still on his back. 

Where was Ladybug? 

He was sitting, then. He must've done it. 

Must've fallen. 

He hadn't imagined death to feel so much like a continuation. 

He hadn't wanted to die, either. He didn't want to die. He didn't. 

He hadn't fallen, though, he noticed as soon as he felt some new sort of cold leech into his suit. 

He was just sitting. Still on the tower. 

And the pressure moved from his back to his shoulder. 

Oh. 

She'd caught him.  
He didn't really want to be high, and his eyesight was beginning to darken around the edges. 

He felt so ill. 

"Jesus," His voice was cinder and the word stained his throat on the way up. As it passed his lips, it turned them to static. 

The fog it created wrapped around his forehead just tightly enough not to kill him and dappled his skin with pinpricks of frost. 

Maybe he should've eaten something before coming. 

Just so she'd see. 

He was so good. 

He'd show her later, though, because he was falling again, and he couldn't see anymore.


End file.
